Tate's Conscience
by TheDevotchka
Summary: AU fiction. Tate hates high school. He hates his girlfriend, fake friends and his 'promising track career'. It's not what he wants. He wants her... the pretty, peculiar new girl. Only problem is? She can't stand him and he can't seem to change her mind.
1. Encounters

I raked my fingers back through my hair, letting it slide back into place around my face before sighing a breath through my lips and shaking my shoulders.

"You can do this," I whispered to myself, rolling my eyes before grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.

"Violet? Aren't you going to eat something, honey?" My mom called from the kitchen, and I muttered a curse word under my breath before plastering a fake, bright smile onto my lips and stepping round to face her inspection.

"No, thanks, mom, I'll get something on the way," I tried, edging towards the door. She turned around and looked me over, sighing.

"Violet, honey, do you have to wear that? It won't help you make friends," she shook her head in disapproval.

The words were out before I could sensor them, "I don't want friends." She stared at me stonily for a long moment before shaking her head and turning back to her own breakfast, because she was eating for two now after all. "Sorry," I added as an afterthought before dashing for the door.

The walk to school was uneventful, but the Californian sun stuck foreign and unwanted to my skin and set my hair on fire. There was nothing worse than the first day at a new school, and tomorrow would be easier. I stopped just before crossing into the parking lot, looking wistfully back at the lush green grass at the park to the side, and wrinkling my nose and squinting against the sun reflecting off the cement and brick of the school building. I rolled my eyes against the pep talk my brain wanted to give me and strode purposefully towards the school. I didn't ask for help, just followed a variety of badly planned signs on my way to the reception area, where a bored looking secretary handed me a schedule and shooed me back in the direction I'd come. I clenched my fists, bunching the paper up against my palms as I scanned the map quickly before shoving it in my bag. I had enough trouble fitting in already without wandering with my nose in a map.

"Woah," I collided with a hard body, a guy at least a head taller than me. He smiled down at me, steadying me with a hand on my lower back. I tugged out of his grasp and slid past him, but he fell into step with me. I repressed a groan, because this guy wasn't nasty, but he was an unwanted presence when I just wanted to get through today.

"Hi, are you new?" He asked, trying to catch my eye as I continued to walk briskly, eyes ahead.

"Yeah, just moved here."

"Cool, where from?"

"East Coast." Why couldn't this guy take a fucking hint?

"What's your name?" It would be rude not to answer, and though I didn't want to make friends, I didn't really want to make unnecessary enemies either.

"Violet." I turned to look at him for the first time, because I'd stopped outside my classroom and I wanted to cut this short with a smile and then go back to ignoring everyone.

"Well Violet," he leaned in closer, a grin plastered across his face. "Next time you shove me in the hallway, I'll knock your fucking teeth out." He pushed off from the wall, giving me a courteous little wave with his finger-tips before sloping off down the corridor, and I noticed now how people moved out of his way, whether consciously or not. I shook my head, clearing the bad vibes before opening the door to my first class, English Literature.

"Ah, you must be our new student. Miss…?" The teacher trailed off, smiling politely and looking expectant. I stepped forward.

"Harmon."

"Harmon." He repeated, nodding as if saving my name to his memory… as if he gave a damn. "Take a seat at the back, next to Mr Langdon," he scanned the room.

"Urm… I don't know who-"  
>"Oh, so sorry. Tate, raise your hand please. Tate?" My teacher got up, and as he passed I heard him mutter something about this being the third time this week. I followed him down the aisle past the rows of curious faces, trying not to make eye contact with any of them, especially after the douchebag from earlier. The teacher stopped in front of a double desk, motioning for me to take the spare seat, next to the boy who was clearly sleeping, his face covered by his arm. His hair was a mess of blonde locks with dark roots, and I wondered if he dyed it. He wasn't wearing what the other boys wore, either. He was wearing a striped green and black jumper and baggy, dark wash jeans. He looked out of place, but that was okay because it meant he might not want to punch me in the face so much as the others did.<p>

"Mr Langdon, again?" He jerked a little at the sound of his name, but didn't lift his head off the desk, just mumbled something into his sleeve. I bit my lip to stop from smiling, because the kid had guts and no matter how much I liked the teacher already, I liked back chat more, no matter who it was coming from. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch that," the teacher growled through impatient teeth and his head finally rose, dragging as though it was harder for him than anyone else, as he flashed the teacher an angelic smile, all teeth.

"Sorry, sir, it won't happen again." He stared the teacher down, until he sighed and began moving back to the front of the class with a "See that it doesn't, Tate."

'Tate' turned a little in his seat and jumped when he noticed me.

"Why are you sitting at my desk?" He demanded, not angry, but just confused, as though he couldn't fathom a situation that would place him sharing a two person desk with anyone. I wondered if he had any friends either.

"You make it sound like I just sat in your lap or something, jeez," I retorted and he smirked.

"Well, I wouldn't mind." I rolled my eyes, because of course he just had to be like the rest of them. He rolled his eyes, too.

"Of course not. Thankfully, I would. I'm new, is there a protocol I'm breaching by sitting with you?" I knew I was being a little harsh for someone I just met, but it felt natural and I've always been one for saying exactly what I think, so it was a no-brainer. I wasn't going to censor myself for him or anyone.

"Well, sort of. My girlfriend wouldn't like it, for starts. And no offence, but you're kind of weird looking." He was straight faced and I walked to balk at how wrong my perception of him had been. He was a jerk. We didn't really talk for the rest of the lesson, and that was okay, because I liked English Lit and by the looks of Tate's notebook, so did he. I thought that would be the end of our conversation, but just as I was about to turn out of the classroom, almost last to leave, I felt someone grab my arm and was turned around to face Tate. I looked pointedly at his hand and he dropped my arm.

"Sorry. What's your next class?" I took note of the way he hunched a little, and scuffed his foot against the ground like he was shy. He didn't seem all that shy before.

"Study hall. Why?" He glanced up at me.  
>"Ditto. Want to go to the library? I can show you where it is, or, I don't know." He trailed, flicking his hair out of his eyes rapidly like he was nervous I'd shoot him down.<p>

"Sure… I mean sounds good. Can I smoke in there?"

"There's a big sign that says 'no smoking' so naturally, yes, you can," he beamed and I laughed a little. We were walking across the courtyard, when I sparked up and took a long, grateful drag.

"Uh oh," Tate trailed in my ear before dropping out of step behind me. I turned to look for him and was met with a wall of people, as a girl stepped out from amongst them.

"What do you think you're doing? You can't smoke here." The girl got right up in my face, and I resisted the urge to slap her. Had Tate planned this? He must have known that I'd get in trouble for smoking here, if it was a rule or something.

"I'm sorry, I'm new, I didn't know." I kept my voice level and kept the rage inside. Dropping my cigarette and stomping it out under my foot, I tried not to lament the two pulls I'd gotten off it before wasting the rest.

"What are you doing? People sit here, you freak," she bent down and picked up the still-smoking butt.

"Okay, god, can you just leave me alone?" I took a step back but she grabbed my arm, wrenching me closer to her.

"No, I want you to eat it." She pushed the cigarette towards my mouth, and I snapped. Looking for my opening to strike, I barely noticed Tate come into my line of vision.

"Come on Leah, that's enough, okay? She's new, like she said." He put his hands on her waist and tried to tug her back, and I tried to hide the sting of betrayal I felt. I remembered him mentioning his girlfriend, but I couldn't believe it was this bitch. He'd seemed okay… but I guess that was just an act.

"Seriously, Tate? Wow," I made sure my tone was all biting and loathing, before spitting square in 'Leah's' face and pulling out of her grasp, running away as I heard her screams behind me.

I found the library perfectly fine on my own, and checked in before heading to a corner to pick a book and escape this shitty school with its shitty people for an hour.

"What you did back there was badass." Exactly the voice I didn't want to hear right now.

"Shouldn't you be comforting your girlfriend?" I asked and I heard him sigh. I didn't look up, didn't trust my face not to show the betrayal I was feeling.

"Look, you knew I had a girlfriend…" he trailed and I finally looked up at him, my gaze level and empty.

"Sure you did, but I didn't think you'd be blind enough to date such a shithead." He visibly flinched, and I smiled triumphantly on the inside as I forced my eyes away from his and back to my book.

"I don't love her." He volunteered, dropping cross legged in front of me.

"How tragic. I'm sure she's devastated." I didn't try to reign in my sarcasm at all, because he no longer deserved it.

"Look, you don't understa-"

"Did you set me up back there?" I interrupted him, and by the way he cast his eyes to the ground and bit his lip, I had my answer. "Unbelievable." I shut my book and went to stand. "No, actually Tate, it's completely believable. High school shit heads do shitty things, and they usually work in packs. What's unbelievable is that I fell for it. Fuck you, Langdon." As I went to step away he gripped my ankle, pulling roughly. I slammed to the floor face first, and lay there a minute dazed and confused. He rolled me onto my front and pressed his body against mine, breathing deeply.

"Don't call me that." I couldn't see his face because it was turned against my neck, and I couldn't help the way my body tingled at his breath on my skin, harsh and damp.

"Why? You don't deserve a first name basis with me, and why would you even want it. I'm a freak, and you have the perfect life, right?" I knew it wasn't wise to make him angry given our current position, but I couldn't help it. He'd riled me up more than anything else had today, because I couldn't stand people who lived in so much bullshit that they couldn't tell the difference between that and reality anymore.

"I hate them all." He gritted out, his hands moving to my face. He cupped my jaw with one and circled his strong fingers round my neck with the other.

"Then why do you bother?" I asked, though I already knew. His words painted the cliché picture I knew he was about to reveal.

"Because I'm a track star." That's not exactly the 'misunderstood, alone in a crowd' bullshit I'd expected.

"I'm sorry, I really don't follow."

"I run track. I'm pretty good, too. It just sort of escalated from there, I guess. I like running, and suddenly the jocks like me, and Leah is my girlfriend though I never even asked her, and I'm bleaching my hair a little lighter so I can be who they want me to be and every night I go home and dream about cutting them all to pieces and I wake up thinking about girls like you." He sounded so sincere that I didn't know how to remind him he was a shithead and nothing he could say would change my mind.

"Oh, a jock with a fetish for freaks, how original," I scoffed and I expected him to get mad, but he laughed, sitting up beside me. I realised with a start that he was crying, bitter, anguished tears.

"See. Violet…" he trailed, and his eyes were somewhere else now, not looking at me but through me.

"If you want to kill them so badly, why don't you just do it?" I challenged, and he looked at me then, really looked at me.

"You think it would be that easy?" The wonder in his voice made me nervous, and I wondered what my dad would make of him, what his professional diagnosis would be on a boy like Tate Langdon.

"No. It wouldn't be easy at all. Why don't you just break up with the super-bitch? One less problem." I suggested half hopefully but not letting anything more than causal disinterest show. He smiled, reaching a hand out to push the hair away from my face.

"She needs to suffer. You're not the first person she's terrorized, and you won't be the last. And I'm just a pawn in her game. I know that much. She doesn't even like me. I'm a virgin." His eyes were far away again and I wondered if he knew his hand was gliding up my thigh under my dress but over my tights, and I wondered why I was letting him. "Are you a virgin, Violet?" He whispered my name, turning to look at me properly. He obviously knew where his hand was after all, as it came to a stop on the crotch of my tights and I could feel the pulse in his fingers through the thin layers of material.

"None of your business. And I still maintain that you're a shithead… Tate." He beamed, remembering the way I'd called him Langdon and knowing this meant he'd earned first name basis.

"I wish you were my girlfriend," he mumbled and I snorted, albeit unattractively, but it was just such a ridiculous thing to say.

"Yeah, well, I'm not going to be anyone's second best." I left it open ended though, because if he really did redeem himself, end it with Leah and stop being such a shithead, there's no reason why I wouldn't be with him… the side I'd seen during English Lit, and in the doorway to the classroom, and right here. I didn't think it was all bullshit, unless he was really that good an actor. And if it turned out he was, there would be hell to pay.


	2. Rain

**A/N: It's really scary writing Violets POV, scarier than I thought it would be I guess. Hope I'm doing her justice!**

I pulled open my locker at the end of the day, shoulders hunched to avoid accidently offending some other psycho as I shoved my books into it. I little scrap of paper was wedged between two shutters on the door grate, and I pulled it out.

_Violet,_

_I know I pissed you off earlier, but I can't stop thinking about you. This isn't a joke and I'm not setting you up. Meet me behind the bleachers at the end of the day, okay?_

_I'll make it up to you,_

_Langdon._

I wondered why he'd used his surname, when in the library I'd almost given him access to the elusive first name basis I shared with no one. I debated, biting my lip, before sighing and shoving the note into my back pocket, making up my mind as I pushed the doors open and made my way across the lot.

I was almost at my front door when someone grabbed me from behind and pulled me back off my porch, and down the side of the house. I struggled and struggled, but their grip was firm and I was pressed too close to the chest of my assailant to really struggle. Next I knew my face was pressed against the wall and I was tasting dust on my tongue in surprise as I tried to pull some oxygen into my lungs.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I tried to keep my voice level and fearless, as the person pushed against me and I felt their breath on my neck.

"I don't want to hurt you," the voice was a familiar, frustrated hiss and I only had to wrack my brain for a moment before placing it.

"Tate Langdon? Tate? What the fuck, dude?" I demanded, pushing him again. He bit down on my shoulder, telling me that struggling wouldn't help either of us.

"Your ass is far too close to my dick," he explained as he kissed the bite he'd buried in my skin.

"Unbelievable," I sighed.

"You didn't come meet me today." He stated it, not a question.

"No, so you stalked me home," I retorted, biting cheer in my tone.

"I didn't mean for it to be creepy, I just… you didn't come," he finished, confusion in his voice.

"You're so sure if this special connection we so obviously have, but you're wrong. You're a shithead track star with a whore of a girlfriend, and I'm the girl you'll never understand. Okay? That's just how it is." I pushed again, and he gave, falling away from me. I turned around, back to the wall and fury in my eyes. I could run, but I wanted to make sure I devastated him, completely, so he'd leave me the fuck alone and carry on with his perfect asshole persona.

"I don't like that," he mumbled, scuffing his shoe on the grass and becoming my literature boy again. I wasn't fooled, not this time.

"Well, I guess you didn't get the memo, but life is shit sometimes. See you around, Langdon." I sneered, before turning around to walk back to my front door, locking myself in. I went cautiously to the kitchen and got a snack, sure no one was home right now and wondering if my parents had forgotten I existed again. I heard creaking upstairs and prayed to whatever God may or may not exist that my parents weren't fucking. I didn't need that baggage.

I pushed open my door with my foot because my hands were full with food and the letter that my dad had left for me from friends in Boston.

"We're not done." I dropped the food, throwing the letter behind me. Tate was sprawled on my bed reading my journal, and he had to be a figment of my imagination because no way did he get up here this fast and invade all my personal space this quickly. No way.

"How did you get in here?" I took up my most defensive stance, stomping over to him to snatch the book from his hand. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me to the bed, straddling my waist and pushing my head back into the pillows.

"We're not done, Violet," he frowned like I'd disappointed him and reached a hand up to brush my hair out of my face.

"You're such a **freak**!" I groaned in frustration, wriggling my hand free from under his knee and socking him in the face. I felt his lip split against his knuckle, and my thought was confirmed when my hand came back bloody. He moaned, putting his fingers to his face and smearing the blood across his mouth and up his cheek like a lopsided smile.

"You're such a turn on," he mumbled, grabbing my hand and bringing it to his mouth. I watched with wide eyes as his tongue darted across my knuckles and between my fingers and I tried to ignore the tightening tingle in my stomach.

"You're a disgrace," I whispered and he smiled angelic and boyish and charming before leaning down and pressing his bloodied lips to mine.

"You're perfect," he mouthed against me as he trailed rouge kisses over the porcelain, virgin skin he violated. I pushed him off and thought about kicking his ass or running away, but I couldn't.

"You're broken," I stated, only realising the truth in my words as I said them out loud. He was broken and I was fearless and he was attracted to what I could do for him. He wanted my protection. I pushed him back against my bed and crawled on top of him. His hands slid to my waist and held me flush against him.

"I'm not broken," he growled, rutting against me hard. My eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, but he still had a girlfriend and he was still a shithead. I pulled away from him and rolled onto my side. He propped himself up on his elbow, face flushed and lip still bleeding as it swelled up.

"It's okay to be broken… Tate." He smiled at the use of his name, and winced as his split lip opened and bled again.

"Will you help fix me?" I sighed, breathing out long and hard through my mouth until my lungs felt shaky.

"Break up with your girlfriend." Was my only replied and he groaned.

"Can't you do it for me? She'll kill me."

"She'll kill me more," I giggled and he rasped out a laugh, pushing down to nudge his nose against my jaw line. I felt the rush of air as he inhaled, breathing me in.

"Thank you." Was all he said, before standing up.

"For what?" I raised my eyebrows at him and sat up cross-legged.

"The lip, obviously. Makes me look badass." He rolled his eyes before heading for my window.

"What the fuck are you-" I stopped as he crawled across the ladder into the house next door.

"Oh, did I forget to mention? We're neighbours," he grinned, reaching his window sill and pulling the ladder back through. I was left speechless, arms wrapped tightly around myself as I considered getting a lock for that window, and feeling disgusted with myself for wanting him to crawl into my room again.

Walking to school the next day wasn't so fun, because it was actually raining and I'd been so sure California didn't have weather that I didn't even own an umbrella. A car sped past too close to the curb, drenching me in that horribly cliché, but no less inconvenient way, you see in movies. The difference here, is that the car stopped and reversed to a stop beside me, and the window was rolled down, jerky as though by hand. I was expecting some creep to poke their head out and leer at me, and that's exactly what I got.

"Hey Viiiiiiolet, whatcha doing?" Tate elongated the I in my name and I rolled my eyes, turning to face him.

"Walking to school, dumbass, thanks for the soaking by the way!" He giggled and gestured to me with his finger.

"Want a ride? Get in." He questioned but then he ordered, and I scoffed at his assumption.

"No thanks man, you'll probably abduct me. I don't fancy spending the rest of my life tied up in a shack somewhere, sorry to disappoint," I quipped and he laughed, a genuine sound, like I'd pleased him with my insult.

"That's my girl. Get in." His voice was less forceful now and I tried to supress the little glow I felt at being called 'his girl', trying to remind myself that he was a shithead and not only that, but a shithead with a girlfriend.

"Whatever," I sighed, jogging round his car and getting in because I really didn't want to get any wetter and I may as well use him, if he's going to be sticking around. By the time we got to the school the rain had stopped and students were milling around, most noticeably the bitch from yesterday… Tate's girlfriend.

"Do you want to drive off and drop me and I'll walk in?" I offered, more for my sake than his. I didn't fancy dealing with the shit-storm she'd cause if she saw me getting out of her boyfriend's car and I couldn't blame her, either, this looked suspicious because it's not like we're friends.

"Nope, I'm good. He got out the car and Leah noticed immediately, running over in her weird, wearing-too-high-heels way and wrapping her arms round his neck.

"Hey baby," her voice was too fake, and I sat for a moment surveying the scene through the windscreen and wondering if I could sneak out without being seen before realising this had to happen one way or another. I took a deep breath, putting on my best bored-to-fuck look before getting out the car. Leah saw me immediately, of course, and shoved Tate out the way, storming over to me and shoving me against the door I'd just closed.

"What are you doing?" She hissed. I looked at her for a second, trying to side-step but she dug her nails into my shoulders and shoved me back, harder.

"You deaf, bitch? I _said,_ what are you doing in my. Boyfriend's. car." She spoke slowly as though that would help her case.

"Nothing." I stated simply wriggling out from under her grasp and aiming to dart right again.

"Hell no. He's mine, you have no purpose in either of our lives. He's a track star, and you're a nobody, okay?" I nodded, rolling my eyes. I knew she'd catch that and I knew I'd pay for it, but there wasn't really anything I could do to stop something that came so naturally to me.

"Leah, leave it." Tate's voice was low and even, and I could definitely detect the note of warning in it. Obviously Leah couldn't, or didn't care enough to regard it.

"No, I don't think you understand, bitch. I guess I'll have to give you a little incentive to leave us alone, hmm?" She looked at her perfectly manicured nails for a moment and I was expecting her to cuss me out some more, but instead she brought her hand up and clenched it into a fist, punching me straight in the mouth. I felt my bottom middle teeth stick into my lip and knew I'd split it bad, maybe bad enough to need stiches. She pulled back, glancing at the blood on her knuckles before punching me in the eye, like she was just desperate to bruise me in the easiest places. She managed one more punch to my stomach before Tate sprang into action, and I wondered for a moment if he's gained some sick pleasure from watching her beat the shit out of me. He grabbed her arms and pulled her back, keeping a distance between their bodies as though he couldn't bear to touch her. It made me smile, and remember the way he'd pressed himself against me last night.

"Get in the car." He ordered her coldly, and Leah's face went blank as she made her way to the passenger door and got in.

"Tate?" I questioned, wondering if he was taking her side yet again, and was off to fuck her and laugh about how they'd really got the freaky new kid.

"Go to class, Violet. I'll talk to you later." He didn't even look at me as he went to the driver's side and got in, starting the engine and pulling out of the lot with a screech of impatient tires on tarmac.

I couldn't focus in my classes, especially in English when I was forced to stare at the empty desk that should be filled by the most annoying, charming, charismatic shithead I'd ever met. I had to walk home, which wasn't too bad because it wasn't raining anymore, but if Tate had been here I might have managed to get a lift, seeing as he lives next door and all. I considered knocking for him, confronting him about earlier and telling him to leave me alone if he's really chosen her, and then I decided my silence and indifference would punish him more, because he spent so much time trying to be noticed. No one was home when I stepped through the front door, and I wondered, fleetingly, if my parents were even real. I never saw them outside the house, after all, and since we moved here, I'd be lucky if I saw them a couple of times a week. I dropped my bag by the stairs and trudged up them, planning my evening so I'd lose myself in a book and my MP3 and maybe sleep for a while, because I wasn't hungry. My window was open, and there was blood smeared on the sill. I closed the door gently, silently, and stepped cautiously round my bed.

"Tate?" I spoke cautiously and softly, not wanting to frighten whoever or whatever was in here. Tate was huddled up against the wall that joined my window to my bed, his hair messy, face tear-streaked and his hands crusted with dirt-dried blood.

"Violet?" He whispered, voice barely breaking the sound barrier and hands shaking. I knelt, slowly in front of him and rested a palm on his knee in what I hoped was a reassuring way.

"I'm here, Tate." I kept my voice calm and even.

"I.. I did something bad."


	3. Grit in his fingernails

I think I knew what he'd done before he'd said a word, because the dirt and the blood and the way it was smeared and dried on his arms, in the streaks of a struggle. I knelt down before him, carefully placing my palms on the knees of his dust-caked jeans. I wasn't stupid enough to try and interrogate him right now, because even though I knew he was just a broken boy, he was still dangerous enough to stalk me home and crawl into my room through the window.

"Okay," I breathed out, and he met my eyes, shining and clouded.

"You're not gunna ask what… what I did?" He stammered, voice thick with the collecting tears in his throat.

"You'll tell me when you're ready." He noticed the confidence in my voice, the absolute certainty I felt that he would confide in me, and despite his current condition he managed a smirk that sent little jolts through me. I know it's bad but he's beautiful when he cries and there's nothing more irresistible than a wounded, broken boy for me to fix. He caught my fingers where they were tracing thoughtless circles on his knee and his hand was cold and unfamiliar, marred by little nicks and scratches.

"I did it for you," he murmurs, eyes on our fingers. There was no doubt, now as to what he did.

"You can't hurt someone, and say you did it for me. You don't even know me," I tried, not wanting to be blamed for anything later and not wanting to make him angry. He just gave me a look like and a roll of his eyes, rubbing his calloused thumb over my knuckles.

"We both know that's not true." I opened my mouth, but no snappy argument came to me and I pressed my lips together, knowing he was right. I slipped my hand off his knee and down his thigh, and he followed my travelling hand hungrily with his eyes. I skipped over his crotch and rested my hand on his stomach for a moment, trying to ignore the way my heart sped up at the hard, flat planes of his abdomen. I blinked quickly, determined, and continued my hand's upward journey until I reached the place his heart should be.

"This is real," I made my voice louder than the sound of our breathing.

"I'm a monster," he smiled, wryly, but the shine didn't leave his eyes because I knew he was still a mess inside.

"You're my monster," I assured him, nodding. He leaned forward, and I hesitated for only a second before leaning into him. His lips were chapped and swollen and they didn't mould to the shape of the kiss, but the salt and dust taste of him had me threading my fingers into his hair and chaining him to me. He parted his legs and pulled me through the gap between them, resting me against him. The press of his chest against mine and the throbbing of his dick through his jeans made me lean into him, though I knew he'd done something awful and a rational, healthy, normal person would run, screaming and call the police. But I didn't, proving that the sickness in me had violated me to the core, and Tate was perfect for me.

He pulled away from me with a little whine and I smiled, pecking his lips once before resting my forehead against his.

"Where is she?" I asked, my hand soothing strokes onto his cold cheek.

"The beach. I left her on the beach," his voice was barely a whisper, but I was close enough to his lips that I not only heard his confession, but felt it in wispy breaths against my swollen mouth.

"Okay… we need to get rid of it. They'll come straight to you, anyway. There were witnesses yesterday, Tate." I gave him a meaningful, hard look, and he bit at the side of his lip, throwing his mouth off balance and making it's set unreadable.

"You're going to help me?" He asked, biting back a smile. I clamped my teeth down on my tongue to stop my own smile in return, because this was serious and though I wanted to help him now, he needed to know that this could not happen again. It was too risky and I wouldn't go down for his crimes.

"I like you, Tate. I know it's sick and I know you don't deserve it, but you're a monster and you're mine and I look after my toys," he nodded, a dark, mysterious look clouding his eyes. I stood up and half expected him to force me back down, but his hands dropped away from my waist gently and without resistance, because he knew we had to act fast. We both used the window this time, because I needed an alibi tomorrow morning and so did he.

Tate went to get in his car but a hand on his arm stopped him dead.

"We can't take the car." I didn't give him a further explanation, and I guess he didn't need it because he didn't ask me why, just followed me out to the little lean-to in his backyard. I gave him a look and gestured towards the door, and he produced a rusted key from under a rock. The door pushed open with a shove from his shoulder and a creak. He held the door open, a gentlemanly gesture so at odds with the reason for our visit that I wanted to laugh out loud.

"Do you have anything sharp?" I asked and watched a frown form on his face.

"I've got a few hacksaws from back when my dad was here. He liked to build stuff." Shrugging in a way that was anything but nonchalant, he bent down across me to pull up a large case. He popped the catch and the case dropped open with a clank, a few intimidating looking blades dropping out onto the warped boards.

"These okay?" He asked, looking up at me with a childish need to please. I nodded and he grinned, packing the equipment back into the case and standing up with a little huff of exertion.

We walked to the beach in silence, Tate tried to grab my hand a few times but gave up when I pushed his fingers away. Now was not the time to get sentimental. We both stopped at the edge of the beach, looking out at the black waves rolling against the sand.

"Where," I whispered, as the gravity of what we were about to do began to sink in.

"The little cove, right down there," he pointed at the mountain of rocks and I rolled my eyes.

"Kids play there." I stated, setting off in the right direction. He caught up to me, gripping my hand hard. The slickness of his palm against mine showed how nervous he was, but his grip was too tight to pull away from easily so I let it go. We probably looked like two lovers setting off for a romantic midnight picnic, and I suppose that's a good enough excuse for why we were here. I stopped when we reached the rocks, and Tate glanced at me for a moment before realising he had to go first and dropped my hand, pacing cautiously over the rocks and landing at a stop in a little dip. He gestured me forward with his index finger and I swallowed, hard, before storming over as though my insides weren't doing somersaults. I crouched down beside him and peered into the dark crevice.

"Tate, I can't see anything," I complained and he sighed, pulling a tiny flashlight from his pocket. I didn't know when he'd stashed it there, but I was grateful that he had, because this would be difficult to do in darkness.

The sight of her body made everything real, but I wasn't as scared or disgusted as I should have been.

"I meant to do it." He stated, his face blank of all emotion. He needed me to know that he really was a monster, but I could accept that. I'd accepted it in my bedroom, and I'd accept it here.

"I know. We need to cut her up, real small." His eyes widened at the idea of dismembering his girlfriend… ex-girlfriend.

"We can do that?" He asked, childlike wonder in his eyes and in the slight quirk of his lips and in his dimples. I wanted to press my tongue into it.

"Not here. There will be blood. We need to sterilize this area, too. We need bleach. Tate, we can't do this alone." I could feel the panic rising in me, because I'd underestimated the enormity of this task and now I was at the murder scene, with the murderer, and there was no way to get out of this now. Tate's face hardened and he nodded.

"Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes, but I don't want you to overhear the conversation I'm about to have," he stalked over the rocks and up the beach, and against my better judgement I stayed where I was. He could sell me out in a second, but I stayed as he moved to the payphone, his hair an unnatural shade of gold under the florescent lights illuminating the sign. He slammed his fist against the booth and I wondered who he could possibly be talking to. He raked a hand through his hair and hung up. I looked out towards the ocean to recompose my face and only turned around when I could hear his footsteps slapping on the rocks.

"Help is on the way," was all he said, before sitting down beside me and pulling me against his side, arm around my shoulders. It was 15 minutes later that two figures crossed the beach, and I shot up, alarmed that we'd been spotted at a crime scene. Tate turned in the direction of my stare and grimaced, before standing up and squeezing my fingers gently before dropping my hand and subtly inclining himself in front of me, like a shield.

"My baby," a female, with a southern accent drawled, stepping lightly and slowly over the rocks, hands outstretched like she meant to touch his face. Tate jutted his chin up to stop her and she pulled her hands back like he'd slapped them. The man that followed her was weedy looking, and he eyes Tate with a weariness that made me sure something unpleasant had been shared between them. He was afraid of Tate, as he should be, and I wasn't sure why Tate had called these people, when he obviously didn't like them.

"She's over there," Tate's voice was cold and hard, and the woman flicked her eyes away from him and to her male companion for just a moment. The man obviously got the message, because he went to crouch in the little space and picked up the flash light that Tate had discarded.

"This won't be hard," he stated, turning to nod in reassurance to the woman, who spared him one small smile before turning back to Tate.

"What happened?" She asked, her voice soft. Tate scoffed, and his reaction irritated me. This woman seemed to care for him, enough to help him cover up a murder, even, yet he was being nothing but rude. I stepped around him and smiled warmly at the woman.

"Oh, and who is this lovely creature?" The woman smiled back at me, and then looked to Tate again.

"I'm Violet, it's nice to meet you, even in these circumstances." I stretched out my hand.

"Constance, I'm Tate's mother. Are you his new girlfriend, Violet? I much prefer you to the other one," she shuddered, taking my hand and I saw Tate stiffen out the corner of my eye. "No class," she added and I smiled.

"Well, isn't this nice." Tate's voice was hard and cold, and when I dared to look at his face his glare was so murderous it made my knees shake. Constance's smile faded and she withered under his stare, because the malice in it was directed at her and her alone. She stepped away from the two of us and moved around to place a hand on the man's shoulder while he doused the body in some unknown liquid. Tate looked at me, briefly, before stepping up to stand next to the woman I now knew as his mother.

"Do you need my assistance? Or can you two handle this like you handled my father?" He injected more venom into his words than anything I'd ever heard, and she winced back from him, seemingly shrinking under his glare.

"No, no, you take young Violet home now. Momma will make it all go away," she reached forward and he let her touch his cheek, briefly, before darting back a step.

"Let's go, Violet." He held out a hand expectantly, but his eyes were still pure black and his glare was still murderous and cold and I felt safer staying where I was rather than venturing into the dark with him. "Violet," he spat through gritted teeth. I threw a last, imploring glance at his mother, but no one offered to stick up for me, and no one stood up to Tate. I stepped up close enough to him that he knew I would follow, but I didn't take his hand. We walked a way up the beach together in silence, the only sound Tate's laboured, angry breaths and the way it clashed with the waves on the shore. He waited until we couldn't see the cove anymore before pushing me to the ground. I suppose I was to meet the same fate as Leah, now.

He sat on top of me, pinning my hips to the ground with his thighs and my wrists to the sand with his hands. There was nothing sexual about the positioning, he had me here because he was going to kill me. I was almost certain.

"If I get off you, will you run?" He asked, his eyes still dark but his voice calm and soft.

"No." I held his gaze for a long moment, before he nodded once and sat down beside me. I sat up next to him and shuffled away a little, so I wouldn't be anywhere near him. I didn't want him to think that he could still touch me, not when he was like this.

"I haven't been honest with you yet," he stated and I scoffed despite myself.

"Damn straight you haven't. What was that bullshit back there, with your mum? Who was that other guy?" The questions came out fast despite the fact that he could still kill me, at any moment. The black hadn't left his eyes yet.

"It's all a long story. A long, really fucked up story. And when you hear it, you'll know everything. You'll know all the parts of me that are broken, and I'll still be a monster."

"I want to know, Tate. If something is ever going to work between us, I want to know." He crawled his fingers across the sand to rest on mine, and I let him because it was the lightest of touches and it was just the start.


	4. Reflections

**A/N: Sorry I've been so late with this posting, but due to the nature of the revelations contained within, I was really anxious about writing this part. So, I hope you don't hate my interpretation too much!**

"My dad left, when I was pretty young. I know how cliché that sounds, but without him, I felt utterly abandoned. My mother didn't handle it well, she was never particularly strong. It wasn't so bad though, for the most part we were just ignored." He pulled in a shaky breath and I squeezed his fingers, in what I hoped was a reassuring way.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled and he turned his head to me, as though he'd forgotten I was there.

"It's okay. We didn't know how to take care of ourselves much, other than the little Addie knew from watching mother before she lost it. I opened my mouth and he noticed. "Oh, sorry. Addie's my sister. I had a brother, too, Beau." I nodded, and he smiled briefly before his features reset, grave again.

"She drank a lot, I mean a lot a lot. Usually she'd pass out in the early hours of the morning and not wake up until dinner time, so we didn't have too long with her before we went to bed. I hated her, but I loved her too. I guess… that's why I let it happen at first. I wanted her to love me, so badly, and when she noticed me I felt like it would be okay again. It wasn't okay, Violet," he whispered, trailing off and I shuffled closer to him. Not because I was ready to be this close, but because I realised he needed it desperately.

"What happened, Tate?" I asked in a hushed, gentle tone. He sniffed, eyes darting from the black ocean in front of us to my face and back, as though centring himself to stop the memories from taking over.

"She likes to paint, especially when she's drinking. I used to watch her paint a lot, before things got bad. She woke me up one night, the sun wasn't up yet so I was real confused. She took me into her bedroom. I hadn't been in there in years, so I felt kind of special getting to go where the others couldn't. She asked me if I could do something very special for her." I felt the bile in my throat rising as I thought about the implications of what he was saying.

"How old were you?" I asked. He turned his head slowly to meet my gaze, eyes black.

"Eleven. The first couple of times it was just that, just standing there whilst she painted me. It was cold, but she'd never let me put my clothes on. She said I was too perfect, just like that. It wasn't enough though, it didn't keep her interested anymore. Then one night, after I'd stood for her, she told me I wasn't going to be in my room anymore. I was thirteen when she moved me permanently into her bedroom at night." He grit his teeth and pulled his hand from mine, balling fistfuls of his matted blonde curls and pulling, refusing to meet my horrified stare. "She's taken everything from me, Violet. Who would want me now?" His voice was so fragile, full of anguish and little fissures and breaks that I'm sure reflected his soul. And I wanted to kill the charismatic southern woman crouched in the mouth of that cave. I'd taken her involvement in this situation to the unconditional love of a mother protecting her child, when she was protecting herself. She was always protecting herself.

"When did it stop?" I asked, realising too late and with a sickening jolt in his silence that it may not have stopped at all.

"When I was sixteen. I fell for a girl, kind of hard. I wanted to do things to her, with her, but every time she touched me I thought of that… woman and I couldn't bear to be around her. It ruined things, because she couldn't understand what was wrong and it hurt her, so she left me. And I snapped. As if it wasn't enough that she ruined my childhood, but she was ruining my adult life now? No way. That night, I waited in my room for her to come, and of course, she didn't disappoint." He spat the last word. I pulled a hand from his head and laced his fingers with mine, watching as his face softened instantly.

"Keep going," I prompted him gently after a few moments of silence, and he nodded.

"I let her lead me into her room, I let her take off my shirt. But the moment she rested her fingers on my belt, I ripped her hand away and broke her wrist in one quick snap. I told her if she ever touched me again, I'd kill her, and then I left. I spent the night at a park, because my plan hadn't really gone farther than storming out. When I came back, she couldn't look me in the eyes and she was drinking again." He smiled bitterly at me, and for the first time I noticed the tears tracking down his cheeks. I shuffled closer to him, thumbing the tracks staining his face away. He watched, gaze wide and watery as I brought the pad of my thumb to my lips, kissing away the salty moisture. I brushed my fingers down his cheeks, noticing how close the skin stretched over the bone and wondering how long he'd been in pain like this.

"Am I a monster?" He mumbled, his lower lip quivering. I hesitated. He'd killed Leah, and I hadn't even found out how yet. I didn't know if it was an accident, or if he'd been cruel.

"No." I stated finally. He leaned his face against my neck and I stroked his hair, shuffling closer and into his lap. I pulled his face from my shoulder and pressed my lips gently to his. He made a little whimpering sound against my mouth, sending a quivering vibration through my throat.

"Everything's going to be okay?" He asked me, child-like and beautiful and broken.

"Everything's going to be okay." I glanced out, back at the cave, where Tate's mother had just slapped the man across the face. I wondered about that part of the story, too, but it was for another time. I knew I couldn't send him home again, not tonight at least. I should be afraid of him, but I wasn't. He wouldn't hurt me, I knew he wouldn't. "You're staying with me tonight." I stated, softly but without room for argument. He smiled, a little hopeful upturn of his lips.

"Really? Even though I'm… me?" His words made me want to cry. How could a creature so beautiful as him hate himself so much?

"Especially as you're you." I took his face in my hands, delicately. "No more questions tonight. We're going home." He needed to be led now, because he was the scared little child from his memories again. I stood and pulled him up next to me. He let me pull him along the beach and to my house. The lights were out so I guess my parents were asleep. We snuck in and I tried my best to keep him quiet as his heavy steps thudded along my hallway. For someone who made such a good stalker, he was certainly a long way from stealthy now. As soon as my door was safely closed, I kicked my shoes off and stripped off my jacket. He stood awkwardly in the door way, all of his previous cockiness gone as he stared at the dirt and blood crusted on the floor and window sill from when he broke in before.

"Come on," I pressed gently, leading him to the edge of the bed and pushing him gently down on the edge. He jumped a little but made no move to stop me. I knelt in front of him, holding his gaze as I dropped before him. The gesture was as symbolic as it was practical, allowing me to pull his dirty converse off and push them out of sight, under the bed. I stood, hooking my fingers in his cardigan and pushing it off his shoulders. He lifted his arms from their position across his body and shrugged it the rest of the way off. I smiled, leaned forward to kill his cheeks, forehead, and finally his lips, before crawling past him and curling up on the bed, under the heavy duvet.

"Tate… you need to sleep," I reminded him gently, reaching a hand for him and hoping fervently I was nothing like his mother in my mannerisms. It's not what he needed with the wounds so fresh. I didn't regret bringing it up though, not any of it, because I needed to understand and he needed to tell me. The moment was exactly as it had to happen, and you can't regret what you know in your heart is meant to happen, can you? He turned, dropping beside me, back to my chest. I pressed my face against the nape of his neck and wrapped my arm around his waist in what I hopes was a protective gesture. He mumbled something that sounded like 'thank you' but to reply would be an insult, so I just nuzzled against his hair and tucked my knees into the backs of his bent legs. I waited until his breathing slowed and he stopped shaking before attempting sleep, because I didn't want him to lie awake and alone where his thoughts could get to him.

I knew from the moment I woke up that it was later than usual. I'd probably missed school, and nerves twisted in my gut at the suspicion this would breed and the eyebrows it would raise. Tate was still asleep, his face void of the pain of waking. I hoped he was having a good dream, because today was going to be hard work for both of us. I shifted slightly, becoming aware of the stifling heat two bodies created under the thick duvet with the sun rising fast in the sky. He stirred, mumbling awake as his eyes opened twice, slowly.

"Morning," I whispered, breathless from the dazed, glazed look in his eyes.

"Violet," he gasped, a radiant smile that creased his dimples into perfection lit up his face and the room got brighter.

"Yeah, Tate. I'm right here." He sat up and looked around him.

"So we really did end up in your room then. I really spent the night. Huh." I smiled because I couldn't think of anything less plausible myself. If a day ago someone had told me I'd have Tate Langdon sleeping in my bed, I'd have told them they were so full of shit it's a wonder they didn't breath it out. Now? I'd kissed him on the beach and invited him into my bedroom. Oh, and let's not forget he's a murderer, right? Well, my mom always said I'd go for the odd boys.

"Don't forget that you killed Leah, too," I hadn't meant to sound so… blunt about it, and I was shocked by how level my tone was.

"How could I forget?" I wondered if he was feeling remorseful, but the shit-eating grin on his face told me otherwise and my blood ran cold before plunging south. Was I getting hot from this? Seriously? Man, someone dropped the ball on me.

"We need to go to school. Tate, there were witnesses to you two driving off yesterday. You need an alibi, something strong. You were her boyfriend, you'll be top of the suspect list if we can't come up with something. And there's a good chance I'll get dragged into this too," I worried at my lip, realising for the first time how complicated this would be. The fingers he'd been playing with in his lap seized and shot up so quickly I barely registered until they'd pinned me to the bed and pressed harshly into my shoulders.

"You. Will. Not." He grit his teeth, glaring into my eyes.

"You haven't seen me since yesterday, Violet. I gave you a ride to school because it was raining, but you barely know me. Actually, you think I'm kind of a jerk because I'm one of the popular assholes. Don't they know I run track? You'd never be friends with me." Every word dripped the force with which he spoke, how much he was willing me to take on his story. And I suppose, given my history with Leah, it only made sense to be as detached from the situation as I could.

"Okay. Okay, Tate, I'll stay out of it. But I need to keep you safe from the side-lines. You need to let me help you," I demanded, and he nodded, loosening his grip on my arms at my agreement to his terms and pulling himself off me.

"My…" I knew what he was trying to say so nodded. "She sorted it out, the alibi. She knows people." That was all the answer he gave me, but I trusted him. If anyone would know people who could get him off murder, it would be Constance Langdon.

"Okay then. You should probably go home and clean up, and then it's appearances time. You can drive me to school if you want, the picture of normalcy." I rolled my eyes and he smiled softly, cupping my chin between his index finger and thumb.

"Hey," he mumbled softly, breath ghosting over my mouth before pressing his lips to mine in a soft kiss filled with meaning.

"Hey," I whispered against him. "Tate, if you don't go now I won't let you go at all, and then where will we be? Come on, if we hurry we can still make it to school, _just." _I stressed and he rolled his eyes.

"I know, I know, you're right." He sighed heavily and dragged himself off the bed, pacing to the door and opening it.

"Do you need me to lead you out?" I asked, not sure he'd remember the way after his condition last night.

"No… I know the way," he smirked, blushing and I waited until he'd clumped down the stairs before padding to the bathroom to take a shower and make myself look as though I didn't have a care in the world.


	5. Crazy

"How long have you know Tate Langdon?" I stared at the wall behind the officers head, hearing the slow tick, tick, tick of the clock above the door. I could feel his eyes on me, though I couldn't see him.

"Look, you're not in trouble We're just trying to get to the bottom of a very difficult situation. Your co-operation could help us save someone." I let my eyes drop to meet the officer's, my gaze unflinching.

"I just moved here from Boston. I barely know they guy." I sat back in my seat, crossing my arms and keeping up the eye-contact.

"That's not what other students have said. Many of them have insinuated that the two of you had some form of relationship, possibly as more than friends despite Langdon's public relationship." I gasped, smirking at the officers before sitting forward in my seat and bringing my hand to my throat.

"I knew he was with Leah. She was a dumb bitch and he's a track-star asshole." I thought I'd played my role perfectly, but by the way the two glanced at each other, I guessed they'd found what they were looking for.

"Thank you for your time, Ms Harmon, that will be all." The door was opened from the outside and I was led back into the reception area. I tried to ignore the looks the receptionist was giving me, as I mulled over everything that had been said. Why had they let me go?

I'd told them that Leah's a bitch and Tate's an asshole and I barely know him. No. That's not what I said. I told them Tate's an asshole, and Leah _was _a bitch. I'd all but signed her death certificate. Shit. Holy fucking shit. They'd never mentioned that she was dead, so they probably haven't found out yet. But I'd pretty much told them as much. I have to get out of here. I don't know how, but I have to get out of here. Loosening my posture as much as the tension in my muscles would allow, I strolled towards the door, making sure to leave my school bag on the chair so it looked like I was coming back. The police officer on guard stood as I approached.

"I just need to use the bathroom, it's right down the hall," I smiled, reassuringly, and noticed his glance at my bag on the chair by the office before nodding slowly.

"Alright, be as quick as you can, Miss." He allowed me to pass and I smiled again before ducking out the door and walking, slowly down the corridor. If I started running too soon he'd hear the clatter of my shoes on the linoleum. I felt tears well in my eyes because I didn't know where I was going. Tate had never showed up at school this morning, and I'd had to run to make it in, missing first period and making myself look all the more suspicious. I pressed my back against the nearest row of lockers and tried to control my breathing for a moment. The hand on my mouth had me fighting, and the distorted clown mask looming in my face made me scream against the clammy palm over my lips. He pushed me harder against the lockers, before scooping me easily off the floor and dragging me into the boys locker room. This is it. Some psycho thinks I killed Leah and is planning to get revenge, and no one would come to my aid. They all think I deserve it. Maybe I do.

"I'd beg for my life, but I don't want to give you the satisfaction. I didn't kill that super-bitch but I would, given the chance. So get it over with." My assailant dropped to their knees in front of me, sliding a hand up my thigh. I pushed against their chest, and the grunt that followed as they hit the floor told me they were male. He sprung up again, pulling me up by the arm and pinning me to the grimy, locker-room wall.

"Don't." He hissed, before pulling his mask off. Tate.

"You asshole!" I growled, shoving his chest but pulling him back against me. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and I pressed my face to his heart.

"Nice to see you, too," he breathed, whispering a chuckle into my hair.

"A head's up would have been nice, I thought you'd run off without me. I was totally wigging." I brushed my fingers against his cheek, pressing my thumb into his dimple.

"We need to get out of here. There's only so long you can be in the bathroom," he reminded me, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah, about that, how could you see me? Or hear me, or whatever? I thought they'd have the school on lockdown."

"Nah, not yet. Though, after your little tip-off, they might be re-evaluating they're security level." His reminder of my blunder made me blush and I nodded.

"Well, if you'd picked me up and driven me to school like we'd planned, I wouldn't have freaked out," I crossed my arms defensively, looking away. He cupped my jaw.

"I'm sorry, but my mother and Larry needed to talk to me. They sorted everything out, but there were a few things I needed to take care of. It's sorted now, but I need you to come with me somewhere we can talk. It's too risky here," his eyes darted from side to side like we were being watched, and I didn't doubt his assessment of the situation because he was clearly better at sneaking around the police. I couldn't work out if that was a good thing.

"Okay, did you bring your car?" He gave me a pointed look and I nodded.

"Right, we're laying low now." He nodded and took my hand, pulling me through the rows of lockers and benches to the back of the room where he'd propped a back-door open with a basketball. He kicked it out the way and dragged me into the sunlight, moving quickly across the lot and down the suburban street towards the park. I took over now, squeezing his fingers more tightly with mine and leading him to a shady grove of bushes and trees and sitting, cross-legged in front of him.

"So talk." I left the subject open to him, and he rested his hand on my thigh before beginning.

"It won't be long before the police figure out something's off, with or without a body and with or without an alibi. There's a good chance they'll charge me either way, simply based off the opinionated testimonies of the other kids. It turns out… no one really likes me in high school, and none of them really trust me either." I guided his hand higher and lower, leaving him to stroke soothingly against my tights.

"Why doesn't that surprise me? No matter how much of an asshole you pretended to be, I could tell you were different from the moment I saw you. There's nothing to say they wouldn't work it out eventually, either," I pointed out and he nodded, thoughtfully, his blonde curls falling into his eyes as his head fell into his fist, resting propped on his knee.

"So I don't have a chance, if I stay here. Constance has sorted me out a car, and it's one that won't be traced as suspicious because it doesn't have any link to us, and it's not stolen. We made sure of that. She's given me cash too, enough to keep me going for a good long time. Fake passports, everything. I'm leaving today." The lump in my throat became hard to swallow around, and I bit back tears as best I could despite the fact I wanted to let them fall. He needed to feel guilty, or at least sorry, for leaving me and not caring.

"I see," my voice wavered as I shrugged out from under his hand, backing into a tree and balling my fists at my side.

"Violet…" he trailed, crawling towards me with a quizzical expression his face, head turned to the side as he stopped short of climbing into my lap. He let his hand hover cautiously over my ankle, and I turned my head up and to the side, looking out at the swing-set through the leafy gaps in the bushes.

"What?" I asked, inserting as much venom and ice into the question as I could. He flinched backwards, and I felt good and bad about getting this reaction from him. It showed he cared, even if it was only a little bit.

"Why are you upset?" He asked.

"Why am I upset? I'm not upset." I turned to look at him, resisting the urge to smooth the frown lines bunching his eyebrows into his forehead.

"Violet, I really find it difficult to understand emotions, even yours. I don't understand this. Why are you upset? Please help me make you feel better," I detected the pleading in his voice and sighed, because I always gave in when people I cared about seemed upset.

"Okay. I'm upset because you're not."

"I'm not what?" His frown deepened as he slowly enunciated each word.

"You're not upset! You're leaving me forever and you're not upset!" I was yelling and crying and I wanted to punch myself in the face because I wasn't that girl and now I was doing just that.

"I'm…" he trailed, sitting back on his heels and biting the nails on his left hand. We sat in silence for a few agonizing seconds before his intake of breath made me realise he had clicked with some new realisation. "Oh!" He exclaimed, rushing forward and straddling my thighs, wrapping his hands around my face and lifting my gaze to his. I held it, unflinching, though I didn't want to have to look at him.

"Violet, Violet," he whispered my name, pressing kisses into my neck. His hair tickled my jaw and I wriggled in his grasp. His weight was reassuring as well as restraining against me. "When I said I was leaving…" he trailed, pulling his face away from my neck and boring his blackened eyes into mine, capturing me more with the simple gesture than his restraining presence against me ever could be. "When I said I was going, leaving you behind never crossed my mind." Everything felt hot at his confirmation that I meant nothing to him.

"You're making it worse, Tate," I mumbled and he shook his head violently from side to side, his curls creating a gust of air that smelt like his shampoo.

"I don't understa-. Violet. Violet. Leaving you behind never crossed my mind because I just assumed you'd be coming with me. I know I shouldn't have because we've only known each other a little while, but I just… I'm sorry, Violet," his teeth were gritted and I wanted to say something, but the words wouldn't come, so I just sat there opening and closing my mouth like a fish out of water.

"Tate," I trailed, my voice soft and surprised but I knew it had made a difference, because he looked up and smiled through his tears and his messy hair and his quivering lip. I didn't know what to say because, truthfully, I didn't know. I didn't know if I could give up my family, my high school career, possibly even my identity, for the creepy kid next door I met just a week ago. When I laid it out like that, everything seemed so crazy. Of course I couldn't go. I wasn't on trial for murder, I was barely a suspect. The most I could be charged with is accessory, and even that would be shaky without Tate. But now, looking into his devastated face I wasn't sure him leaving without me was even an option. I wasn't sure he'd leave without me, even if his life and his freedom were on the line.

"Say something, Violet," he pleaded in a small voice which broke on my name like a child's would.

"I don't know what to say, Tate. I don't know what to do with this whole crazy situation." I answered honestly, punctuating my words with a shrug of my shoulders. He sighed, shifting his position so his weight wasn't pressing down on me so harshly. His expression changed and set and I knew I was right. He wouldn't leave without me, he was too invested in this, in whatever this was.

"I can't go without you, Violet. Whatever you say, goes, because I'm hopeless without you." His words dripped with honesty and I nodded, grazing my fingers up and down his sides before balling my fists in his shirt.

This boy. He'd harassed me, stalked me, shoved me, broken into my home, soaked me on the side of the road, killed for me, told me all his secrets and made my pulse race like nothing else. I was in too deep and I knew that if I didn't go with him, I wouldn't survive. I needed him and he needed me and this was fucked up and scary but it was just ours.

"So what are you saying?" I asked quietly, because I had to be sure.

"I'm asking you to come with me, Violet. Run away with me."


	6. For You

Time had officially stopped. He was looking at me expectantly, but I could see the fear of rebuttal in his expression. I dropped my gaze to my shoes, picking at the grass around me. I knew I had to answer him, it wasn't fair to leave him hanging like this, but I didn't have an answer for myself yet. I would have to be utterly insane to even consider it. I had to be insane to run away from the school with him today. The police would surely be out looking for me now, and would have connected the dots between me and Tate. They would know that I knew him, enough to protect him against murder charges. If I were looking in from an outsiders perspective, I'd want to hit me. I was acting like one of those pathetic, lonely women who fall in love with prisoners on death row, just to have somebody in their lives. But from an internal perspective, feeling what I felt and knowing what I know about Tate, it's just not like that. There is nothing text book about him, and nothing cliché about our relationship.

"I…" I broke off my thought, because that's where it ended. I didn't know whether to think about myself or about him, or about us. And I didn't know what was the best thing for me. I liked Tate. He'd killed someone. She was a bitch. Did that matter? Was it a justified murder? No, no it wasn't. At all. The air shifted around us, and I glanced up through my hair to look at him. He'd drawn his knees up to his chest and pressed his mouth against them, and his hair had fallen into his eyes. I wanted to push it back out of his eyes, but I was worried about what I would find there. He must be scared right now, and not just of my answer. He'd killed his girlfriend. She may have been a bitch and he may have hated her, but murderous thoughts and murderous actions were a universe apart and he'd crossed the line. He was a scared little boy, the kid cowering in the corner of my bedroom, eyes wet with tears and trust. He trusted me, and he needed me. If I didn't go with him, I knew there was no way he'd last more than a few weeks before he either gave himself up or was caught through grief and carelessness. But was I really that selfishly selfless? Could I give everything up for a boy I just met, yet had a stronger connection with than anyone else in my life. Hell, I connected better with Tate than I did my own parents, how sick is that?

"I shouldn't have asked, huh," he mumbled against his jeans. I didn't want to tell him yes, or no, because he had every right to ask and I've have been pissed if he didn't.

"We don't have anyone else," I replied, and he searched my face, trying to stifle the glow of hope beginning to light up his features at my ambiguous words. I wasn't ready to answer and I didn't want to lead him astray. "But we don't really have each other, either," I added and he nodded, his face becoming stony and serious again as he studied the worn fabric at his knee. I contemplated a moment longer, before deciding I didn't have enough to know the answer yet, and I would have to risk hurting him to be able to give him what he needed. I pushed myself onto my knees and crawled towards him, pushing his knees apart with my shoulder and settling in his lap.

"I just-" I began to explain but he cut me off with the press of his lips against mine. He knew, as well as I do, what I needed in order to progress. He pulled away after a few moments, but I'd made up my mind. The kiss had been soft and slow, and he placed a second, quick kiss to my lips like a signature before pressing his forehead to mine.

"Tate, they'll never understand you," I began, but rustling in the bushes behind us broke me off mid-sentence and I spun, in time to see the police officers surrounding us.

"Don't move until I tell you, understand?" Tate whispered against my neck, and I nodded slightly, a tiny jerk of my head that only he would notice. I stared at the police officer, who stared back with a stern, slightly surprised expression.

"You're the Harmon girl?" He asked briskly and I nodded, unable to form words. My emotions were already too shaky from the revelation I'd made within myself and the answer I was preparing to give Tate.

"Now," Tate mouthed against my neck and I jumped up, not knowing where I was supposed to be jumping to. I spun wildly as the police officers bared down on me, shouting at each other and at me.

"Stop! Get down on the ground!" One yelled, and I dropped to the floor, uncomprehending because I hadn't tried to move at all. I stayed there until hands grabbed at my arms and pulled me to my feet.

"You're going to have to come with us, Ms Harmon, for your own protection." I didn't understand what he meant, for my own protection.

"Why? What do you mean? Why would I be in danger?" My questions were met with silence and they wouldn't even look me in the eye as I was lowered into the back of the squad car. Wait…

"Where's Tate?" I asked, and was met with more silence.

"Did you kill him?" I asked, wondering at the hysteria in my voice. The panic bubbled up inside me and I thrashed on the backseat, realising for the first time that my hands were cuffed. The car came to a stop and I was escorted into the bleak sheriff's building. "What's going on? You have to tell me what's going on!" I was pushed into a seat and my handcuffs were removed, I rubbed at my wrists and noticed the freshest of my self-inflicted wounds had been broken open by the press of the metal. Tate would have liked it. Tate. I tried to control my breathing and compose myself, knowing I was being watched and assessed. When I was sure my heart wasn't going to lunge out of my throat, I looked up and noticed the crowd of stone-faced people around me.

"Violet Harmon?" A woman stepped forward, voice soft and lightly probing.

"Yes… where is Tate? Where are my parents?" She smiled softly at the bewilderment I knew was all over my face.

"Your parents are on their way now, sweetheart. Tate Langdon on the other hand, he escaped custody earlier today, in the park. You're a very lucky girl, Violet. He hadn't had a chance to hurt you yet, and so long as you stay in police custody he won't get a chance to, I'm sorry, I'm sure this is a lot to take in," she gave me a sympathetic sort of half smile and I blinked, uncomprehending.

"What do you mean, hurt me? Tate wouldn't hurt me… we're kind of friends."

"Friends?" She asked, glancing back at her colleagues, who began taking down notes. I noticed a tape-recorder sitting on the desk in front of me.

"Yes… friends. I only just moved here," I trailed, because the police officers were all looking at each other and shaking their heads, a few were talking in hushed whispers.

"And before you moved here, you had no contact with Tate Langdon, at all?" She asked, seriousness entering her tone. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

"Not at all… will someone please tell me what I'm missing here?" I pleaded and she nodded.

"Come with me, Violet. We have a lot to discuss. Would you like to wait for a parent to be present in the interrogation room?" She asked and I shook my head. The two men at the door to the interrogation room hesitated when they saw I was alone, but the woman held up a hand.  
>"She refused to wait for her parents. It's got clearance." She explained and one of the men nodded, allowing us access to the room and closing the door behind us. I sat on one side of the white-slab desk and she sat on the other, a tape-recorder between us. "Just a formality," she assured me, when she saw me eyeing it up. "You're not on trial here, Violet," she added, giving me a warm smile. I didn't like the way she was treating me, as though I were a traumatised child.<p>

"Could you just explain what's going on? Tate…" I trailed and she nodded.

"We didn't realise you weren't aware of anything that's been going on… Tate painted quite a picture of your relationship together, and your knowledge of his crimes." Crimes? Plural? Tate?

"You talked to Tate? I thought you said he escaped custody?" I challenged and she nodded.

"Yes, but his journals, art, and scrapbooks told a very different story." I opened and closed my mouth. They'd been through his stuff. That meant they knew he'd done it. For sure. We were out of the game.

"Oh," I managed.

"Would you like to hear it all now?" She asked and I nodded violently, because I was dying to understand the situation. I hated being kept in the dark and I hated being treated like a child.

"Tate Langdon is a troubled boy, Ms Harmon. Earlier this afternoon, when we discovered the hidden location of Langdon and yourself, we had approached with caution, fearing the worst had already happened. Fortunately, he did not get the chance to finish the destiny he had set for himself, because you got away from him. Unfortunately, however, Langdon escaped, but the important thing is that you're safe." I frowned.

"Tate wasn't trying to hurt me in the park back there. He was… we were, well, kissing," I explained, feeling the burn in my cheeks as I blushed. I was kissing a murderer. What must this police woman think of me. Her expression didn't change.

"Perhaps, but the gun he had pressed to your temple looked real enough, and we believed he would shoot you."

"That's why you didn't move in on us? I wondered why you were just standing there… why would he have a gun? Why would he point it at me?" No, this wasn't real. They were trying to turn me against him, so they could get a testimony against him. They didn't have anything on him at all.

"I'm sorry, Violet, this must be a shock."

"No, it's bullshit, is what it is."

"We believe Langdon planned to make you his second victim, as he was sexually interested in you. From his journal, we believed you were already engaged in a sexual relationship with him, but it is becoming evident that this isn't the case?" She phrased it like a question, and I shook my head, numb with pain and my resolve wavering.

"No… no, we just met. He was an asshole, but things were getting better," I mumbled, keeping my eyes glued to the desk in front of me and the pale, small hands I didn't recognise as my own, shaking as I held my fingers together tightly.

"I'm very sorry, Ms Harmon." She glanced at the door for a moment, and stood up. "Your parents are here. You will be able to go home tonight, but don't worry, we're sending a squad car with you, you'll have round the clock security surveillance until we've captured Langdon." She smiled at me and I smiled back, trying to make my expression seem natural when I was just suspicious. Were the police officers for my protection, or to enforce a captivity upon me for as long as they couldn't charge me with anything? Maybe they thought I knew where he was hiding, and that I'd lead them to him. I wasn't that stupid. Or, maybe I was, and he wasn't that stupid, because I really didn't know where he was. My mom was crying, and dad was shouting at an officer with a notepad. The moment they saw me, they rushed forward, enveloping me in hugs I didn't really want.

"My poor baby," mom whimpered, kissing my hair.

"Let's get you home, Vi," my dad added, wrapping a strong arm around my shoulder and steering me towards the doors. We were stopped by an officer, who gave us an apologetic smile.

"I'm sorry, but she'll have to ride in the squad car. Strictly for her own protection. Langdon is a dangerous criminal and if he's looking for Violet, she needs to be protected."

"Well, can I ride with her?" My mom asked, placing a hand on her hip that screamed 'I'm going to whether you say so or not'. I was grateful, for a moment, that she still cared. Sometimes you need to be reminded it's okay to be a kid, because you have a mother. Tate didn't have a mother, not really. The thought of him sent a twinge of discomfort through me, though I didn't know why. Was I scared of him? Or for him?

"Of course you can. As I said, it's for her protection only. She's not in custody of any kind," he assured us, but the tightening around his eyes told me otherwise. The ride home was longer than I'd expected, because I was looking out the window and every flicker of a shadow on the darkened sidewalks made my heart leap into my throat, and more than once I thought I spotted blonde curls darting behind bushes. But that could be my mind playing tricks on me, wishful thinking or the cruelties of a frazzled, terrified mind. Home held no comfort for me, because my sheets were still rumpled from this morning and I couldn't believe it had only been one day. Just this morning, I'd woken up with him here, and his scent lingered on my sheets, faint body spray and something rustic and 100% boy. I pressed my face shamelessly to the pillow he'd used, breathing him in and allowing a single, confused tear to roll out of my eye and onto the fabric beneath me.

"Hey, it's okay, don't cry," I shot up at the sound of the voice, of his voice, so close to my ear that he may as well have been inside my head. The room was empty, and I choked on a sob because my family had been pushing me towards the edge of sanity for seventeen years, and he'd pushed me firmly off of it with a kiss and a soft smile.

"I miss you," I whispered into the darkness of my room, though no one could hear me but the Tate in my head.


	7. Flickers

"How're you feeling this morning?" My mom's smile was tight and forced, her eyes were tired. I wondered if she'd been sleeping at all.

"I'm okay. Am I going back to school today?" I asked, eyeing the large breakfast she'd made me.

"If you're feeling up to it, sweetie. You've had a lot of time off, I don't want you to fall behind… not all because of some…" she broke off, her face crumpling and the floodgates of her tears opening with a whine.

"Hey, mom, look, I'm okay," I smiled, trying awkwardly to embrace her with one arm. My mom rarely cried in front of me, and it didn't seem fair for her to do so now, when I'm the one who should be upset.

"I know you are, you're so strong, Violet. My strong little girl. We're so proud of you, after everything you've been through," her tears were still coming, distorting her voice. I grit my teeth, reminding myself she was only regurgitating what people were telling her. I'd only found out two days ago, when I'd logged onto a social networking site for the first time, because I planned on going back to school and wondered how many people would still be talking about it. The comments hit me like the bullet's Tate had planned for my skull. 'RIP, Leah, u were so brave!', 'Such a beautiful young girl, she would have been famous,', 'always in our hearts, Leah'. But worse were the comments directed towards him, and me. 'Tate Langdon will rot in hell,' 'I feel soooo soo bad for that Violet girl.' 'Bet he raped her, too, she seems kind of fucked up.' 'I heard he tried to kill her but the cops stopped him. Too bad they couldn't save Leah, she was really innocent.' I'd slammed my laptop shut and pushed it off the edge of my bed, it landed on the floor with a harsh clunk and I curled into the foetal position. I didn't go back to school that day and it was a full twenty-four hours before my mum managed to coax me out of my bedroom.

"He didn't do anything to me mom. How many times do I have to say it? Tate was my… friend," I trailed, not wanting to share the most vulnerable part of us with her. That was something reserved solely for the me and him that existed in my head, now. I stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall, my mother hot on my heels. I grabbed my bag and slung it over my shoulder, opening the door and making my way down the path.

"Honey, I have to drive you. I'm sorry, but it's a safety thing. He's still out there."

"So what if he is?" I yelled, continuing down the drive and feeling my heart break at the sight of his house. I waited by the car, though, not wanting to cause a scene. My mother ran out the house moments later, still in her pyjamas but with shoes on now. She didn't speak to me the whole journey, which suited me fine because I was back to imagining blonde curls behind bushes.

"Have a good day," she offered, coldly. She hadn't even thought her words through, because we both knew my day would be anything but good. Necessary, yes. Progress, maybe. But good? No. Without Tate, my day would never be good again.

In the most typical cliché you could imagine, the hall fell silent as people noticed I'd arrived, and whispering began as I shoved past the crowds to reach my locker. Hundreds of eyes followed me, some suspicious, some sympathetic, some neutral and just curious. I opened my locker and shielded the contents from prying eyes, though I knew the police had been through everything inside, my books were in a different order to how I'd left them. I grabbed the essential books I'd need for the day, not intending to have to stop in the hall so long until the end of the day when the novelty of my tragedy had worn off. The bell rang and I shoved away from the locker, pushing it closed with a clang and heading to first period English. The class dragged, no one would sit next to me. History dragged, a girl left crying when I answered my name in roll call. Lunch dragged, I ate on the bleachers and saw the ghost of a blonde-boy running laps around the track. Gym dragged, I was exempt because of my anxiety and everyone watched me out of the corner of their eye like a feral dog on chain with a weak link. I was exhausted by the time I reached my locker again, but at least people were starting to accept that I wasn't going to kill anyone, and I wasn't the dramatic mess they'd been hoping for. I wasn't good enough gossip to be worth watching any longer. So I stacked my textbooks and notebooks into my locker slowly, sluggishly, and turned to leave, almost before catching sight of the withered purple flowers crushed against the grate of my locker. My breath hitched, but I knew better than to hope because there is no way Tate could have got in and out of this place without being seen. Police were everywhere, for the students' protection, just like the squad car that had taken up residence on the curb outside my house. I glanced around me, before shoving the violets into my bag and hurrying out the main doors, to where my mother was waiting to pick me up.

Though it was impossible, there were fresh flowers in my locker every day for the next two weeks. School got easier, because people were moving on. It was chilling to watch people laugh and chatter as though Leah had never existed at all, just a month after something so horrific. I guess that's high school though. Tate was right. I had to find him. Someone was on my side, because when I went to my locker that afternoon, a scrap of folded paper fluttered to the ground, moved by the force with which I'd swung the door open. I scrabbled for it, surprised, because the flowers never fell out. I didn't read it, afraid my face would betray the contents, and, with any luck, the sender, so instead I pushed it into my bag and rushed for the doors. My mom was there to pick me up again, but she didn't try and ask me about my day. We'd fallen into silence as of late, realising that we had little, if not nothing, in common, and that in order to salvage some semblance of pleasantry in our relationship it was best if communication was kept to essentials. When we got home I thanked her for the ride and she nodded, following me into the house and locking the car with the click of a button. I jogged straight up to my room, pulling the note from my bag and dropping onto my bed. I unfolded the paper between shaking fingers. Just two words. I don' t know what sonnet I'd expected, but the disappointment in my soul was eradicated the moment the words registered for the first time. 'Beach. Tonight.' I smiled, reading and rereading the basic, block text a hundred times.

"Burn the evidence," I whispered to myself, flicking open my zippo lighter and catching the corner, dropping the note into the glass by my bedside when the flames rose to lick my fingers. When I was certain it was an unreadable, shrunken sheet of ash I got up, going to my clothes to pick something to wear tonight. If he wanted me to go with him, I would, so I packed a little bag with essentials and what money I had.

I wondered if he'd want to meet in THE spot. The one where he'd hid her body, the one where he'd probably killed her, too. Or would he want to meet further down the beach, where we'd sat and he'd told me his very worst secrets. I suppose it depended entirely on why he wanted to meet me. Maybe he liked to be consistent, and would kill me where he killed her, or would he take me in his arms and ask me to run away with him on the sand? The beach was black and I stumbled along it, not sure how he'd find me. I glanced over at the rocks where I'd seen her corpse, shivering, but the light below and behind it captured my attention. A fire. That would be a risky move for a murderer on the run, but I guess I can't predict Tate's state of mind. I paced quietly over the sand, crawling over the rocks as soundlessly as possible and peering over the edge. A group of teenagers were sitting around the fire. Not Tate, but some underage party. One of the boys turned at the precise moment I lifted my head, and stopped laughing.

"I'm, sorry," I mumbled, turning to manoeuvre myself over the rocks again.

"No, no, you're right on time," he said causally, taking a few steps towards me. I shook my head.

"No, it's okay, I made a mistake," I tried, but the boy was still advancing, and two others had joined him, flanking on either side as they began climbing over the rocks towards me.

"Yes, I'd say you did. You know, we almost hoped you wouldn't come. We thought, judging by how… boring you've been these past weeks, that you really didn't have anything to do with Leah's murder. We almost thought you were throwing those violets away, and that you'd do the same to the note. But the fact that you're here… to meet him…" the boy trailed off, sighing over-dramatically, and I recognised him suddenly as one of the other kids from Tate's track group of jock types.

"I… I don't know why I came, I-"

"You came because you love Tate. Let's not bullshit each other, alright? You came to see Tate because you love him or whatever, and you knew about him killing Leah. Fuck, you probably watched, huh? Got off on it?" He launched for me and grabbed my arms in an iron grasp, dragging me on my stomach back over the rocks. I could feel the course stone scraping the flesh off my stomach but I pressed my lips tightly together, resolved to let whatever happened, happen, because these kids weren't murderers themselves and maybe I deserved this anyway. I was manhandled between the three, who half carried, half dragged me back off the other side of the rocks and dumped me in front of the fire.

"What do you want?" I asked quietly, trying not to sound panicked.

"We want, answers, Harmon." Another stated, darkly. His eyes were puffy and red but his cheeks were sallow, and I didn't recognise him at all.

"You don't go to Westfield," I replied, trying to place his face. He looked so familiar.

"People say I have her eyes. I'm Leah's brother." Of course, of course, the eyes. Equally clear, and equally cruel. "Know something really sick?" Her brother continued, stepping over to me and crouching in front of my face. "Wanna know?" I turned my face to the side, away from his crazed expression, and he dipped his head down and to the side to catch my gaze again. He sighed because I hadn't asked, but knew I didn't plan to. "I liked Tate. Like, I really fucking liked him. We used to hang out when Leah had some girl shit to do, and I actually wanted him to stay with her. I wanted her to make him happy more than I wanted him to make her happy. How sick is that? Right?" He kept asking me and I kept staring at the sand and the way the fire changed the colours of the grains and brought out the glassy tones. The knuckles against my cheek were more of a shock than they should have been, had I been paying attention to the wreck of a person in front of me. I clicked my jaw back, moving it in tiny circular motions to assess the damage. He'd hit right to the bone, and I think he'd split a knuckle because my cheek was damp. "You look at me when I'm talking to you, you fucking sadistic bitch!" He was crying now, sticky saliva hitting my face. I turned to look at him, my eyes wide and innocent. I knew I looked young, knew I could pull off that scared-little-girl look and maybe save myself a worse beating.

"I'm sorry she died," I whispered, and he shoved me backwards and held me against the fire, the flames so close they singed the sweat right off my face.

"You're not sorry. You're as bad as he is. No, you're worse. You know what he did and you walk around this town like a guiltless little angel, when you know. Did you see him do it? Did she suffer?" he broke down again, letting me go. I dropped into the fire and rolled out just as quick, putting out the fire at the ends of my hair and cradling the arm that had been lightly burned.

"I'm sorry, I don't know. I didn't see her die," I pleaded for him to believe me, but his eyes had turned cold. He looked the same as she had when she'd singled me out to be her personal play-thing, and I knew I was pretty much a goner.

"Well, I'm sorry too, but if you can't tell me, than you will suffer." He stomped down on my leg from its folded position against the floor and felt the bone strain underneath his boot, but not break.

"Hey, hey man, we're just scaring her, don't take this too far," one of the other guys, the first one, warned him with a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off and looked down at me, before crouching in front of me.

"I'm not going to really hurt her, guys, chill out. Go back to the car, I'll be over in a minute. He glanced round to face the others, an easy smile on his face. "I just want to make sure she understands why she has to stay away from him, y'know for Leah," he'd injected just the right amount of sadness and sympathy into his tone, and the others bought it, as they shrugged and began walking away.

"We'll meet you in the parking lot, don't be too long, dude, I'll give you a ride home." The boy in front of me nodded at his friends, waving, before turning back to me. In a loud, fake voice he took hold of my hand. "I just want you to be safe. No more innocent girls need to die, okay?" But when they were out of earshot a slow, sadistic smile spread across his face and I knew I was going to die, or at least be beaten into a coma tonight.

"They all just… left?" I whispered in disbelief, because they had to have known this guy was unstable. Maybe they were okay with him doing this, so long as they didn't have to watch and could just go back to living the life of blissful, naive denial so typical in high school.

"Sure they did, Harmon. They know you deserve this. Don't worry, I'll pretend it's Tate I'm hurting, okay? I suppose," he punched me hard in the stomach and I think something ruptured, much deeper than the penetration of his fist could have delivered. "That this will hurt him much more than if we had him here, won't it? He loves you, after all. Not her. Not my poor sister. He never did love her, I could tell." He punched me again, and twisted my hair around his fist. "He was too good for her, but he should have just ended it. Not her. He ended her and she didn't deserve that!" Finally, something I could be convincing on.

"No, she didn't deserve that. I didn't like Leah," I coughed, my stomach reacting sharply to my intake of breath, "but she didn't deserve to die, and Tate was wrong. But you can't punish me for it. I was at school the whole time. I didn't know he'd killed her until way after," I tried to be as convincing as possible, because I was being truthful. He pulled my head to the side and closer to him.

"Too little, too late," he whispered, and I was preparing for some fresh hell, but none came. I was thrown to the ground as he released my hair and I stayed there, fearing the consequences of trying to move before he'd decided what to do next.

"Violet," soft voice, soft fingers raking gently through my hair to reach my face, cup my cheek and jaw, turn my head to face him. The fire illuminated his blonde curls, emblazoned around his pale face and impossibly dark eyes like in so many of my dreams.


	8. Scuffed Jeans

**A/N: So sorry, something went wrong with this update. Thanks to the people that let me know, I hope it works this time!**

"Tate," I whispered, not sure if this was just another dream, or if I was dead.

"I'm sorry I left you behind, Violet. I didn't have a choice. You knew I'd be back for you though, didn't you?" He asked and I nodded, feeling my eyes close in relief after all I'd been through.

"Mmm, I knew you'd come back, Tate," I nodded along with him, allowing my body to fall into nothingness, safe in the knowledge that he was there, and he was my protector.

I could hear the engine and feel the acceleration before I'd even opened my eyes. I knew I was lying across the backseat because I had that sense of vertigo you get from not being quite upright enough to cope with the movement. Car sickness. I cracked an eye open, a flood of panic rushing through me at the idea I was in a police car, or, worse, the car of my attackers from last night, Leah's unhinged brother and his high school asshole friends. I felt my head crunch against the side of the car, and gasped as pain shot through my skull. Fuck. I forced myself to look to the front, almost crying out at the sight of blonde, messy, greasy curls and long, pale fingers curled around a steering wheel. Of course, Tate had saved me. I always knew he would, always knew he wouldn't leave me behind to rot at Westfield. I didn't have the strength to sit up, though I hated feeling this vulnerable.

"Tate," I whispered, realising how dry my throat was and wondering how long I'd been out of action for. The car slowed a little and I glanced up to see Tate turn around.

"Violet," his voice broke and the car veered, coming to a stop. I closed my eyes, hearing the scuffles and curses of Tate climbing through into the backseat with me. His hand came into contact with my thigh and I felt warmth spread out from the point of contact. I opened my eyes again and he smiled, tears welling in his eyes and making him look beautifully vulnerable. He rested his chin on the edge of the seat and I forced my hand down to rest in his hair. His eyes fluttered closed and open again, making a single tear fall from his eye and streak down his cheek. I couldn't stand knowing I'd caused that, even inadvertently, so I pressed my thumb to the trail and wiped it down his face.

"Hey, thanks for… you know," I finished awkwardly, not sure how to really thank him for effectively saving my life… from something I didn't know how to even start to deal with.

"It's cool. You know you'd have done the same," he shrugged, trying to hide a sniff behind his sleeve as he blinked and smoothed his hair to the side, off his face.

"Sure," I managed a smirk, glad to be falling back into the less intense way we'd been at the start.

"We should probably get back on the road," he trailed, jabbing a thumb back at the wheel. I nodded, pushing myself weakly into a sitting position and fighting the nausea that came with a rush of blood to the head.

"Right, right," I nodded, regretting it instantly as I tried to stop the car from spinning.

"You hit your head, hard," he offered, noticing my inability to focus on anything for more than a moment or two.

"Right," I mumbled again, reaching for the door-handle and missing only twice before grasping the metal and pulling it towards me. I half walked, half fell out the door and hadn't realised how slowly I was moving because he was round and in front of me and pulling me out the car and supporting me with a hand around my waist, which crept up to brush the outline of my breast. I was too weak to hit him away and a part of me didn't want to.

"Ready to lose that hand, Langdon?" I asked and he laughed, slipping his fingers back down to my waist and helping to lower me into the passenger seat in the front.

"Can't blame a guy for trying," he chuckled and I smiled, letting my head loll back against the seat. I felt the car jolt as he sat down across from me, and the engine rumbled to life.

"Tate," I started, turning my head a little so I could look at him without getting dizzy.

"Yeah, Violet?"

"Where are we going?" The smile dropped from Tate's face and he turned to face the road again. I didn't miss the white stretch of his knuckles tightening on the wheel, either.

"You should go to sleep again, Harmon," he said softly. I nodded, knowing he was right and I actually was feeling pretty drowsy. It was only as my brain started to settle into the hum of nothingness that I realised he'd never answered my question.

"Violet," a voice whispered, very close to my ear. I could feel warm breath tickling against my neck and I wanted to brush the hair away from my jawline. I sighed, and cool fingers relieved me of the scratching hair around my face. "Violet…" the voice whispered again, very soothing.

"Mmm," I thought I'd vocalised, but the sound didn't resonate in my throat as it should, and my tongue felt swollen in my mouth.

"Harmon, it's time to wake up," the voice was harder now, and a little further away, but I opened my eyes anyway.

"Tate," I sighed, not feeling quite so relieved as I had in the car. Something was off about all this.

"Yeah, I'm here. We're stopping for a while, I thought you might want to stretch your legs or something." He was sitting across the room now, and I wasn't sure how he'd gotten there so fast. I sat up, much slower this time so as to avoid the dizziness from before, and rested back against the headboard with a pleased sigh.

"Where are we?" I asked quietly, not wanting to invoke the same reaction as I had before with my questioning.

"Motel." Tate spun round and round in a chair by the battered desk in the corner, the action looking so boyish and normal that it almost made me nostalgic for the high school I'd left behind a few short hours ago. Or was it days? I had no idea.

"Your hair is longer," I blurted suddenly, realising that he looked different. He shrugged, not stopping the jerky twists of the chair.

"That shit happens," he mumbled. His voice was colder, and it made me uncomfortable, because he'd never been cold with me before. He'd been an asshole, sure, and he'd been a pervert, and he'd been mocking, and loving and gentle but never, never cold. Distant, as though he barely knew me though he knew me in the most intimate way. I stood, woozy, and dropped back onto the bed, though I didn't know why. I shouldn't still be tired, I felt like I'd slept for days. Maybe my limbs just needed to wake up. I made my way silently over to Tate, crossing the tiny room in three strides before he had time to register I'd even moved, he was so focused on his knees as he spun. I reached out and stopped the chair, tightening my grip on the arms and jerking him to a stop. He looked up at me, breathing becoming laboured as I leaned in. I knew how best to get answers out of him, and I can't say I minded doing it.

"How long have I been out, Tate?" I dipped my face to catch his eye and he stared back at me, jaw slack and lips parted.

"In and out for three months. I don't know how much you remember though, from being awake." He dropped my gaze then, picking at the fraying fabric on the knees of his jeans. I blinked, shaking my head quickly.

"N-no. That's bullshit." I spat, pushing off the chair and turning my back on Tate. I fisted my hair in my hand, tugging harshly. An arm snaked around my waist and pulled me against his body, and I struggled, because I didn't trust my emotions or his motives.

"It's not bullshit Violet, it's not." His voice was soft and sad, and far too close to be comfortable. His breath tickled against my neck and it made me itch. I tried to squirm away from him but he held me fast and flush. I could feel his heartbeat against my back.

"How?" I asked, trying to keep my voice neutral and taking advantage of the fact that he couldn't see my face.

"I thought it was the right thing to do. You can't leave me, Violet." His lips brushed my temple and I closed my eyes against the tears threatening to spill.

"I want to go home, Tate. This isn't what I wanted." I anticipated some kind of backlash, but not the harsh shove that threw me onto the motel bed, face pressed into the sheets. I tried to centre myself against the shock and the spinning, but his weight came down on the back of my thighs before I had the chance and I wriggled and bucked desperately to free myself.

Tate leaned over me, his chest pressed against my back again but cutting off my oxygen.

"You can't go home. Silly girl. My girl," he mumbled softly against my neck, pressing kisses into the name and bringing a hand up to caress my hair. "What we have is special." His voice became more firm, hardened against the last word as though he was trying to force himself to believe it as much as he was trying to force me.

"Tate, I can't breathe," I warned, trying unsuccessfully to lift my head from the sheets. I wasn't sure he'd heard me because he didn't move for a long moment, but he sighed and lifted his weight off me enough to flip me onto my back, keeping his hands firmly, possessively on my hips.

"Sorry," he smiled softly, rubbing harsh circles into my hips. "At the park, you were going to run away with me. If those fuckers hadn't ruined it, you'd have come. And then, maybe all this wouldn't have happened." He gestured to me, and to the room and I swallowed hard.

"All what wouldn't have happened?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

He sighed. "My hair wouldn't have got longer." He got up off of me, giggling to himself at his little joke. I dropped my head back against the bed, trying to pull myself together long enough to formulate some kind of escape plan.

I wondered, if he were really unhinged, if he'd have remembered to lock the door. Chances are that he would have, and that he'd probably punish me somehow for trying to escape, but I had to at least try. Tate had gone back to the chair in the corner, settling down and spinning again. I calculated how close I was to the door, and how long it would take him to register my movements if I was very, very quick. I reckoned my chances were pretty okay, so I launched up off the bed and made for the door. The fact that he looked up, met my eyes, but did nothing to stop me should have tipped me off, but I still felt my stomach sink when I rattled the door handle and it didn't budge. I took a deep breath in and out, turning around with my hand still on the handle.

"Tate, please unlock this door." I kept my voice low and slow, as if talking to a small child.

"Where would you have to go, Violet? What could you need that I won't give you?" His face was void of all emotion, but his dark eyes were glossed over with unshed tears.

"Tate… it doesn't have to be like this." I didn't know how else it could be, though, because if he let me go I would leave and that's not what either of us wanted.

"I think it does, Violet. We've been over all the outcomes and all the scenarios, but none of them make you stay with me. Am I that crazy, Violet? That you don't want to be with me?" He chewed on his bottom lip nervously, fingers furiously picking at the fraying material again. He was a child, an insecure, messed up child, and I had never been in so much danger as I was with him.

"Tate, I-"

"No. No more talking." He stood, taking a few steps towards me, gauging my reaction. I had nowhere to run and I was frozen in fear and anticipation. He closed the gap between us, lifting my chin with his thumb and forefinger and pressing full, chapped lips to mine. I knew I was kissing back, and that it was wrong to do so, but I couldn't help the way I'd always responded to his touch, even when he was being a high school douchebag like the others, there was still a chemistry between the two of us that I couldn't deny, or fight. I punched at his chest feebly, not really wanting him to stop but refusing to feel powerless, either. He brought an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I tried not to notice how hard he was through his jeans, but it became impossible to ignore when he grinded it on my thigh. I pulled my mouth away from his.

"Tate…" I trailed, as he suctioned his mouth to my jaw, placing kisses and nips along my flesh.

"S'okay," he mumbled, sloppy against my skin.

"Not ready," I added and he pulled away, pressing a gentle, chaste kiss to my lips.

"I know. That's okay. You will be."


	9. Trust

I didn't really remember going to sleep, but I woke up in darkness with Tate next to me, in the grimy hotel bed. I remembered him holding me on the bed and telling me everything was going to be okay soon, but after that it all becomes pretty blurry. Something was different now, though I wasn't sure if it was just the change in the hour outside. I was wide awake, though it had to be pretty late. The room smelt different to when I went to sleep. It was mustier, with a heavier, bitter scent as though someone had been smoking a few days ago and the air hadn't been changed. I wrinkled my nose, but my fingers itched for a cigarette of my own and I wondered if Tate would let me get some, or would get them for me if I wasn't allowed to leave yet. He was curled around me from behind, a loving, restraining arm around my waist like a safety belt. I wriggled a little to see if he would budge, and to my surprise he rolled off of me with a little snuffle. I stood, shaky on my legs in that all too familiar way now, and stumbled to the door, with my arms outstretched. I was met with smooth wall, all the way along to the corner.

"What?" I mumbled lightly, feeling my face scrunch up in confusion. "Where the…" The door was gone, just completely gone. This wasn't right, at all.

"Violet, what are you doing out of bed?" I spun in the general direction of the bed, eyes reeling in the dark. The bedside light flickered to life and illuminated the shadows under his eyes and jaw.

"I… was looking for the bathroom. This isn't the room we were in last night." I said it as quietly as I could, not wanting to upset him at all.

"No, this is exactly where we were last night. You mean… where do you mean?" His nose scrunched up in confusion and I felt my knees give out, sliding down the wall onto the floor and hugging my legs tight. He pulled himself off the bed and crawled over to me, and I was powerless to stop him.

"Tate… what's happening to me?" I glanced up at him, his face was softer now, almost sympathetic. Perhaps I'd imagined the menacing shadows framing his features, but I hadn't imagined the deep, bruise-like shadows under his eyes, or how sallow his cheeks were. I ghosted my fingers across his cheek and he leaned into my hand, eyes fluttering.

"Violet," he whispered.

"When did you last eat?" At the mention of food my stomach rumbled. "When did I last eat?" I hated having to ask. He smiled.

"You ate last night, don't worry. You never miss out on it Violet. Me, a bit longer. So long as you're okay though, I'm okay." His smile was stretching as he talked, and it took on a manic edge that frightened me.

"Tate… are we starving? Where are we getting the money to stay in motels from?" I asked, already sure I didn't want the answer. Tate was a wanted murderer, there's no way he had a legal job.

"You're not starving, Violet. You're fine. I'll provide for you, I'll always provide for you." His voice hardened and he knocked my knees apart, crawling further forward and pressing against me. His barely-there stomach pushed against my hip bones and I tried to force myself to flinch away from the contact like a normal person would in this situation, but I wanted him badly.

"I'm scared," I mumbled and he made a little whimpering sound.

"I don't want you to be scared. Do you like the dress I got you?" His face lit up and I glanced down at myself, noticing the stained ivory lace for the first time.

"Is this a wedding dress?" I asked, eyes in my lap. I was afraid to look at him.

"It's not just a wedding dress. It's your wedding dress. I knew you'd like it" He giggled, rocking back on his heels.

"I… it's a bit much for everyday wear, don't you think?" I asked, a little nervous.

He giggled again, leaning in to press a kiss to my jaw when I turned my head. "Don't be silly," he shook his head, moving away to stand. "You hungry?" I shook my head stiffly, feeling the tears blurring my vision. He sighed, starting up a whistling tune as he strolled into the bathroom and flicked another light switch. I took the time away from his prying eyes to examine myself more fully. I'd definitely lost weight, dangerously so. My hair was shorter, but jagged, like it had been cut by someone who had no idea. My nails were cut square across and not at all like I would have. I stared uncomprehendingly at my fingers before burning up in defiant shame at the realisation he'd done this to me. I stood up, balling my frail hands into fist and barging into the bathroom. He'd left the door ajar, standing at the mirror and splashing water on his face. I glanced at the freshly used razor beside him and thought about how easy it would be to snag it, lull him into her arms and draw it hard against his throat. I could go home, and no one would blame me. People do crazy, violent things to get away from their captors. I wrapped my arms around his bare waist, relishing in the warmth of his skin and pressing my forehead between his shoulder blades. He felt more like home than my childhood ever had. I just had to know what he was doing to me.

"Baby," I tried, and he whimpered happily at the nickname. I stroked his stomach and dipped my fingers suggestively below the waistband of his jeans. He sighed, dropping his head back and leaning into me. "I want to stay here with you, Tate."

"You… you always were," he babbled, still focused on the light brushes of my fingertips on sensitive, tightening flesh.

"I need you to stop making me forget, Tate. I want to be with you all the time, you can't make me forget days… maybe weeks of my life," I continued, trying to stop the anger and betrayal from saturating my tone.

"For your own good," he gasped as I brushed my fingers lower, feeling how hard he was.

"You hard for me, Tate?" I asked and he whimpered again, nodding frantically. "I want to be with you, so badly," I muttered seductively, before pulling my hand away from him and stepping back. He spun around, frazzled and leaning on the basin for support.

"Then be with me!" His words were a little slurred, lower lip swollen from biting down.

"I want to, Tate, I really do. But you have to be honest with me. I need to be sure of my own feelings. I can make you feel so good, Tate," he was looking down now, eyebrows pulled together. I was losing. I took a step forward and ran a hand down his chest and back up, tilting his chin up to me. "Fiancé?" I tried, and he met my gaze, beaming.

"Okay. Okay. No more weird shit." He pressed his lips to mine quickly, before shoving me back lightly out of the way and moving into the main room. I followed cautiously, staying by the bathroom door whilst he rummaged in a black duffel bag. He turned back to me, shaking a bottle of pills. "No more weird shit," he repeated, striding over and wrapping his free arm around my waist.

"Were you drugging me with those, Tate?" I asked, voice monotonous. He nodded, blushing.

"I was. But only because I love you. I didn't want anyone to take you away from me." His justification made little sense, but I knew there was something wrong with him now, he was different. I needed to fix him, and I would find a way.

"It's okay," I took his face in my hands and pressed my lips to his, relishing the salt of his tears against my tongue.

"I'm sorry. I wanted you to wake up when it was all safe. And you kept waking up and I didn't get the dosage right every time, and then I had to make you forget again…" He trailed, pulling away from me and pressing his forehead to the wall. "I fucked up, Violet," he smashed his head against the wall over and over. I watched, eyes wide, as he broke the skin on his forehead and continued hitting.

"Hey, hey," I yelled, pulling him away from the wall and turning him to look up.

"You didn't fuck up, okay?" I smoothed his hair out of his face and gave him the best smile I could muster. "Now I'm here, I can help you. We can get someplace safe… together. Yeah?" He nodded weakly, fresh tears falling. "You need to give me those pills though," I added, dropping my hand to stroke against his knuckles where they closed over the bottle. He nodded again, releasing his grasp and letting me take the pills.

"You forgive me?" He asked and I smiled tightly.

"Of course I do. I'm going to throw these away." I added, moving into the bathroom and away from him. I opened the bottle and poured the majority of the pills into the toilet, dropping about ten pills into my hand.

"Violet?" He called from the other room, and I jumped, glancing up and expecting to see him in the doorway. He wasn't.

"Yes?"

"Do you love me?" He called, his voice taking on a child-like, vulnerable edge. I stared down at the pills in my hand, before flushing the toilet and throwing the bottle into the trash can.

"Yes." I replied, catching a glance of my gaunt face in the mirror as I moved back into the main room to wrap myself around my benevolent captor. He rubbed his face into my neck and hair and sighed. I held him until he fell asleep, pressing myself into him and feeling the salvaged little pills against my ankle where I'd stashed them in my sock.


	10. Insecure

**A/N: I'm so sorry this is late, my laptop died on me so I finally had to bite the bullet and convert to the world of Apple Macs. This is a kind of longer one though, so I hope it makes up for the lateness. Drama is to come. **

The slivers of white light filtering under the curtains told me it was daytime when I woke up, but Tate was still sleeping soundly against me, the tiniest smile playing on his lips. I sighed, looking down at him and questioning my own actions from yesterday. I knew I'd only slept for one night, I was wearing the same clothes, and with a subtle press of ankle to mattress I could confirm that the pills I'd snatched were still safely in my sock. I wriggled gently from his embrace and sat on the edge of the bed, rolling forward and arching my back to work out the knots from sleeping in awkwardly around my captor. Though, I couldn't really be sure if he even was my captor so much anymore. After all, hadn't I accepted him entirely last night? Accepted the way he had drugged me and taken me away from my family, and confirmed I wanted him anyway? I got up and padded to the black duffel bags stowed under the desk in the corner, trying not to think about what they'd held prior to our little trip. I hesitated with my fingers on the zipper, not sure if this would be crossing a line, but deciding that, as we were equal now and he was not to keep anything from me, I deserved to know everything we had and what he was planning for our future. I glanced behind me at the sound of the zipper opening, but Tate was still sleeping, hair ruffled on the pillowcase around him. I turned back to the bag, parting the sides and rustling through the contents. There were clothes, male and female, some I recognised and some I didn't. One of my favourite dresses, a purple, knee length cotton one with tiny black flowers printed all over, was folded neatly towards the bottom, and I felt unexpected, but not altogether unwelcome, butterflies in my stomach at the gesture of him bringing it.

My wash-bag was in there, too, and my hairbrush, and iPod. Something about his going through my personal things whilst I wasn't there made my cheeks flush warm. I wonder if he'd gone… yeah, there was a collection of my underwear, bras I never wore but I guess Tate decided I should wear. I smiled slightly, zipping it up and moving on to the next, slightly smaller bag. I knew that I couldn't trust him, of course, but the contents of that second bag made it all the more imperative that I remember how dangerous and unstable he can be. He had guns, and pills, and rope. I didn't even want to think about the rope, images of myself tied up like a lamb for the slaughter flashing through my mind and making me dizzy.

"You know if you wanted to play you really should have asked." His voice was cold, and I prayed he wasn't right behind me. I turned slowly, straightening out of my crouch and glancing up at him without meeting his eyes. He was sitting up in bed, perfect torso on display, and bedhead sticking out all over the place. He'd have been a wet dream if it wasn't for the betrayal slapped across his face. I had to stand my ground.

"Tate, I agreed to be your equal on this. No more weird shit, remember?" I folded my arms and the betrayal on his face became guilt.

"I was going to explain to you…"

"I know." He looked up in shock and I smiled.

"I didn't exactly give you a chance between last night and now, did I?" He sighed and crawled over the bed, closing the distance between us and folding me against his chest. I tried to quell the relief that washed over me at the feeling of his warm flesh against my cheek.

"They're not for you, Violet. I don't want you to be scared of me, not now, not ever, okay?" He asked, pulling away from me enough to drag my eyes to meet his sincere ones.

"I believe you," I gasped, trailing my fingertips across his jawline. "But I need to know what they're for, anyway. We're together in this." He pulled out of my grasp and kicked the bag under the desk again.

"They're for our protection. I don't know if we'll ever get caught, but we need to be prepared to do what we have to, to survive. The world is a filthy place, Violet, we need to defend what we've got. I'll never let them take you away from me, I promise." My skin itched all over, as I clashed with myself again and again. I wanted him, but I wanted to be free of something so scary, so fucked up. I needed to be a better person, and I would never do everything I wanted to do if I were with him.

"You… we can't stay this way forever." He flinched as though I'd hit him, and then lunged forward. He gripped my arms with biting force and pushed me backwards. My knees hit the bed and I toppled down, him coming down on top of me. He pushed my knees apart and crawled in between my legs, holding himself above me. It was sick, but I felt myself growing slick beneath him, the feeling of his hips brushing mine reminding me that he was a teenage boy and I was a teenage girl and my hormones were everywhere.

"Why not?" He breathed against my face, trailing his lips across my jaw and down to my throat.

"I need more." I whimpered as he nipped my neck, licking the spot he'd bitten.

"What can the world give you that I can't?" He questioned, voice low and sensuous. I groaned as he bumped his crotch against mine.

"I wanna, I wanna graduate," I whispered, eyes rolling back into my head at the steady grinding rhythm he'd started against the too-thin material of my underwear.

"Night school. Someplace new," he trailed his kisses down my neck again as his hands slipped up my skirt to land flush on my thighs, pushing my legs apart further and searing my skin with his calloused fingers.

"Tate…" I wasn't sure whether I was ready for this, I mean, there was chemistry between us, sure, but I still barely knew him. I knew a bunch of stuff ABOUT him, but I didn't know who he really was, as a person. But the insistent press of his thumb against my clit through my underwear washed thoughts of guns and rope and pills from my mind and I could see nothing but him and the white hot surrounding us.

"Just let me make you feel good," he mumbled, inching his thumb up and down to create agonising friction. There was nothing in the world I could deny him in that moment. Nothing at all. I nodded, and he smirked triumphantly, leaning further up to kiss my lips. My lips tingled as he left them, and my heart began to hammer in my chest as he pulled my dress up over my head. I closed my eyes as he did so, hoping I'd forget that I was wearing a sick reminder of the problem he had and the fact that I was engaged to a murderer without my real consent.

"You're the most beautiful girl in the world, Violet." I opened my eyes to see him kneeling above me, eyes wandering over my exposed flesh. I didn't dare to look down at myself, knowing how pale and thin I would be. He pressed his thumb against my underwear again.

"You're wet." I felt myself blush, but when I looked at him he was smiling, dimples stark and deep, and I realised it made him happy. He hooked his fingers into the band of my panties and pulled them down over my thighs and knees and ankles and discarded them beside the bed. His fingers began a gentle caress along my folds, thumb coaxing my clit to life and making my thigh shake. He dipped his head between my legs, looking up at me and meeting my gaze.

"I love you," he mumbled, lips swollen against me as he teased me open and slipped his tongue into my entrance. My eyes rolled back into my head and I let out a low whimper, allowing myself to relax and let him take over. He continued an assault on my clit with his thumb, rubbing circles against it as he worked his tongue in and out, before pulling away completely for moment. I looked at him in disbelief, wondering why he would want to torture me like this if he was so desperate to please me all the time. He dipped his head again, wrapping his lips around my clit sloppily and sliding a finger into me. I groaned out loud at the new sensation, wincing a little at the stretch as he added a second finger, but feeling my knees go week as he curled them round inside me and hit a spot I didn't know existed within myself.

"Ugh, Tate," I whined. He was so good at this, he must have had a lot of practice. That made me feel insecure, and kind of miserable for a moment, though I wasn't entirely sure why I felt that way. He was with me now, he didn't care about Leah. But I couldn't get her out of my head, suddenly. Did he prefer her fuller figure? Did he imagine her body instead of mine? How many times did he do this to her? Was it just the same to him? I felt tears bead in my eyes, because it wasn't supposed to be like this anymore. He stopped his movements at my first sob and knelt above me.

"Hey, Violet, what's wrong? Did… did I do something wrong? Did I hurt you? Shit, don't cry," he ran his thumb through the salty trail making its way down my cheek and sucked it into his mouth.

"Do you imagine it's her?" I asked. His face went blank and he just stared at me, jaw a little slack, and I knew my question had been answered by his silence. "That's what I thought," I tried to stop the tremor in my voice, and launched myself up and crossed the room in three steps, flicking the light-switch to the bathroom, going inside and slamming the door shut. I noticed there was a lock, and quickly barricaded myself in the room. It was two minutes before the knock on the door.

"Violet, can I come in?"

"No." I was calmer now, but I was naked and not ready for him to see me yet. I couldn't take any further humiliation right now. The door handle turned, stopped and then rattled. Good thing this door locked, I should have known Tate wouldn't be one to respect someone's privacy.

"Violet, open this goddamn door right now! We need to talk!"

"Go away! I'm taking a shower." I turned the shower on for emphasis, though I didn't really feel like getting in. My arousal from earlier hadn't gone away, and I could feel it like a coil of frustration in my lower abdomen and a throb between my legs. Tate began hammering on the door, and I knew he'd probably break a few knuckles pounding like that, but I didn't care.

"Violet… please." His voice was broken, and I heard a final thud that probably indicated him slumping to the floor outside.

"No. You… how do you think that made me feel?" Without his eyes on me, I could talk much easier, so I sat down on the other side of the door.

"I don't understand you. I mean, I thought it was going great. I thought I was making you feel good."

"You were," I rolled my eyes. "But when I asked you, you didn't answer."

"Because I had no idea what you're talking about. At all. I mean, who is her?" I sighed, dropping my head back.

"I'm going to unlock this door, but don't you dare come in." I stood.

"Violet…" His voice was wary.

"No. You can come in as soon as you figure out what we're talking about. I know it sounds unfair, but you need to learn that I'm insecure, and I'm a teenage girl, and this shit is important to me. You need to figure this out on your own, and when you do, you can come in. Okay?" The silence on the other side made me think otherwise, but I clicked the lock anyway. I held my breath, but the door didn't open, and after a while, I stopped waiting for it to. I was quite pleased that he appeared to be actually obeying my request, and the tension was leaving me. The shower was steaming up the room, and I was kind of cold, so I stepped in, relishing the hot spray against my skin. I searched around for some kind of soap, finding a little bottle of shampoo by the taps and lathering it into my hair.

It was nice to have some time to myself, to take care of my more basic needs, and I appreciated what the absence of Tate represented. Compromise. He was compromising on his crazy, possessive love for me, and that was progress. I didn't hear the door open, so I jumped a little when cool, bare arms wrapped around my waist and lips pressed a kiss into my neck.

"She never meant anything to me." His voice was low and thick, like he'd been crying. A glance down told me he'd been hitting things, too, because his knuckles were bloody.

"Who?" I asked quietly.

"Leah. Or any of them. None of the other girls ever meant anything to me. I didn't know what I even wanted until I saw you." I sighed, feeling tears spring to my eyes for a whole different reason. I leaned back into him.

"I know I was being stupid, but-"

"No, no, there's nothing stupid about you, Violet. I love you." I turned sharply in his arms, still flush against him, and noticed with a warm blush that he was naked, and his erection was pressing quite prominently against my stomach. I glanced down, wrapping my hand around the base. He shuddered.

"You… you don't have to."

"I want to. I want you." I mumbled, looking up into his eyes. He smiled, pressing his lips against mine. I tried to lift my leg around his waist, but the angle was wrong and he was too tall.

"Violet, as much as I'd love to fuck you in the shower, and believe me, one day I will, I think we should start this off in a bed." I smiled and nodded, stepping out of the shower and leaving the bathroom. I popped my head back around the bathroom door.

"Aren't you coming?" Tate shut his mouth and all but leapt out the shower, chasing me into the main room and wrestling me onto the bed. I felt a hysterical giggle burst passed my lips and wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling the tip of his dick pulsing against my folds.

"This is your first time," he stated and I nodded.

"I want to, though." I couldn't explain why, but I did.

"I will make you mine," he mumbled, pressing his lips to mine as he pressed into me. He slid himself in to the hilt, and I gasped at the feeling of his tip bumping against the farthest part of me. I knew my hymen had broken, because everything was stinging.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, keeping himself level for a moment before pulling out and pushing back in. I groaned, thinking nothing could ever be so painful as this. Tate's face was a vision of pleasure, and I tried to focus on that through the pain. He continued above me at a slow pace, and slowly, slowly the pain began to dull to a numb ache and a tingle of pleasure began to jerk through me when he slipped in.

"A little faster would be nice." I tried to keep the sarcasm in my voice but he just laughed at my efforts. I smirked, but my mouth dropped slack as he pounded into me, deeper and harder. He moaned against my neck.

"You're so perfect," he growled and I smiled, moaning a little as his stretch pressed his hip into my clit.

"I'm close," he managed, and I felt his thrusts become more erratic. I reached down between our slick bodies to rub my clit, and he noticed and slapped my hand away. "Mine." He growled and I nodded, letting him take over the duty of bringing me to my climax. He released inside of me, his thrusts jerking faster as he spilled inside of me but continued to rub at my clit until I came harder than I thought imaginable with a cry of his name. He pulled out of me, and I felt a ghost of the sting from losing my virginity to Tate Langdon.

"I love you Violet." He whispered, pulling me against him. I gripped the edge of the duvet and pulled it over us.

"I… goodnight, Tate," I sighed, bottling out, unable to say the words back whilst I was still fighting so much with myself internally.


	11. Lingchi

**A/N: **Long, long, long overdue, but I've finally remembered to shout out and pay a little homage to some of my favourite fics and authors out there. I'm sure you have already, but check out **shootingstella's** amazing fic **We are Golden** because it's whole world's of awesome. Also, **Lovely Helena's **AU fix **Race Track Princess **is amazing.

It's probably sick, right? For me to want to be with him, despite all that's happened. I know it is, but waking up in his arms, warm and flush against his bare chest, and seeing him smile whilst his features are still soft with sleep, made me realize I really couldn't get away from this boy. It didn't matter whether I wanted him or not, he was my life now. I'd given up my family and my school and my fast track to college, however involuntarily, and all I could do now was make the best of it.

I mean there was no doubting he was unstable, and making him mad or stressing him out would certainly be the wrong thing to do in this situation. I needed to keep him calm and happy, and plan from there.

"We're leaving today," he mumbled to my back. I didn't turn around, content with staring at my feet resting on the spongy carpet beside the bed.

"Where are we going?" I was afraid of a vague answer, but I needed to know.

Don't worry about it. We'll figure it out." His voice didn't waver; I guess he genuinely believed everything was just going to work out. I didn't have the heart to tell him that's not how it works for murderers and their sick as fuck girlfriend types, so I just nodded.

"We can't take your car, right?" I turned now, burrowing back into the blankets to cover myself because I couldn't be bothered to find my shirt. Tate leaned up on one elbow, propping his head on his palm.

"No. I changed the plates though, and I keep changing them, so we should be good for a little while. We just have to keep moving until we find somewhere more legit. It'll be okay." He nodded, eyes focusing on the sheets, and I wondered if he was trying to reassure me, or himself. As far as plans go, this was a pretty terrible one, and I knew we had to be running low on cash.

"Tate… how long can we really keep this up?" His eyebrows knitted together, but other than that he made no move to show he'd heard me. "Tate… c'mon, you can't ignore this problem forever." He shrugged to a seated position, the blankets pooling at his hips and exposing the trail of hair leading down, down from his navel, reminding me painfully of last night. I reached a hand out and cupped his chin, bringing his face to mine.

"Baby…" I hated the nickname but I knew he'd respond to its use.

"Hmm," he mumbled, a little smile faintly outlining his dimples.

"We need to think a little more long-term than 'it'll work out'. You know that." His lower lip began to quiver, and I thought he was going to cry until he ripped his face from my hand and pounded his fist into the headboard behind us. The muscles in his back rippled under the strain of his punch and I heard the crackling splinter of fissures, deep in the cheap wood.

"Tate!" I yelled, terrified. I shuffled out of the bed and dropped into a crouch the other side, covering myself but making sure I could keep an eye on his progress.

"You just can't let me deal with it, can you?" He was still facing away, slumped towards the wood, breathing heavy. From the way he was cradling his hand, I guessed he'd done some damage to his knuckles, considering they probably weren't all that healed from last time he'd been angry.

"I just…"

"No, Violet!" He turned now, eyes black, and he reminded me so vividly of the night he'd appeared in my bedroom, tearfully confessing his sins, that my blood ran cold.

"I…" Even in danger, I couldn't really bring myself to say 'sorry', because, what had I done, really, that was so wrong? Questioning his plans was to ensure we could come up with something long lasting, why couldn't he understand that much?

"It's my job," he was crawling forward now, slowly, languid, like a predator approaching prey caught in a snare. He could take his time. "To protect you. From everyone else. From the world. It's a filthy goddamn horror show out there, Violet. I need… I need to make sure you stay with me. You need to stay clean, and pure." He had slipped off the bed, crouching beside me and turning my head with a finger and thumb on my chin, pinching too tight to be anything but a threat. He leaned in, eyes still cold, and I didn't want to let him touch me like this, but there wasn't much I could do right now. I didn't know my surroundings well enough yet.

"If I can't…" His lips brushed against mine, feather light. "If you don't stay clean, and pure," another soft brush, the caress of a lover tainted seven shades of sinful, "then you're no better than them." He pressed his lips hard to mine, puling back enough to look into my eyes. "And who would want you then?" His eyes were the last thing, before the hands around my throat and the blinding spots in my vision. The pressure dropped before I blacked out, and I slumped down against him, out of weakness more than surrender.

"But…" I choked, and he pressed a kiss to the top of my head, "if you're protecting me from the world," I gasped in a ragged breath through my ruined lungs, "whose going to protect me from you?" His arms were encircling my waist and they were anything but comforting, but I was limp from the attack and his heartbeat against my back was soothing.

I think I slept for about an hour, because I was refreshed but still a little tired, and it wasn't dark outside. I was hungry, and for a moment I forgot why I'd slept in the first place. I sat up quickly; ignoring the residual vertigo from my oxygen deprived state, and surveyed the room. Of course, I saw him instantly, sitting in the chair by the desk in the corner, eyes on me. His face was chalky, looking all the more skeletal with how sunken his cheeks were. His eyes were red and puffy, like he'd been crying, and his hair stuck up at all angles with grease and the motion of running his hands through it again and again.

"Tate," it was barely more than a whisper but it still hurt to speak.

"I'm glad you're awake. Do you remember?" I frowned, knowing there was no point in lying to him.

"Yes." He sighed, standing up and coming to sit on the bed in front of me, feet tucked behind him as he sat back on his heels. He had the nerve to smile at me, and I wanted to punch the look off his face, no matter how breathtaking he looked with it, or how rare his smile was.

"Good. I'm glad, Violet. Maybe you'll learn now." He reached a hand out, brushing his fingers down my cheek.

"Learn what?" I tried to keep my voice regular, though I was raging inside. I wanted to tear his eyes out.

"Not to get involved in things you don't understand. You know I just want to protect you, and keep you pure. You know that now, so, it's all going to be alright." He smiled again, shaking his head a little as he looked down at the sheets. I was boiling up, unable to contain the anguish and rage and heartbreak inside me. I'd given myself to him, stupid enough to think he was good for me, but now I was faced with the harsh reality brought to light by my own stupidity. Tate Langdon was a poison, something he couldn't even get away from himself. I glanced down at my hands, and I could almost see the filth he'd tainted me with last night, the filth I'd willingly tainted myself with, too. I clenched my hand into a fist, knowing before I moved what I'd do with it.

I'd never really, truly hit anyone in my life. The sickening crunch of bone against bone burned more than it actually hurt, and it was a satisfying feeling. The blood bubbling and beading up under his skin in the shape of my knuckles sent a rush of satisfaction blooming through me, and I smiled a real, genuine smile for the first time in a long time. He didn't fight back at first, probably stunned by the fact that I could possibly ever hurt him, his precious, pure little Violet. But I wasn't pure, and I wasn't his. Maybe I thought I was, or could have been, but he'd changed everything. He was a psychopath, and there was nothing I, or anyone else could really do to change that. He couldn't be cured. Eventually he reanimated, gripping the tops of my arms and digging his stubby nails in hard enough to draw crescents in my skin. I continued to thrash, spitting hard in his face. I got him in the eyes, because he shut them and growled, low and furious, and I knew I'd definitely crossed the line.

Tate threw me against the bed, pinning me underneath him.

"The fuck, Violet?" He growled, face flushed with anger and blood slipping down his cheek in thin, wavering veins.

"I hate you!"

"No, you don't." He shoved his knee between my legs and rubbed his jean-clad leg against the material of my panties. I flushed in shame at the thought of him putting these on me after practically knocking me unconscious. He probably tucked me in and kissed my forehead, too. "You can't pretend like you don't want this, like you don't want me." His voice was seductive, practically a purr. He was so sure of himself. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself, before looking directly into his eyes. Ignoring the throb between my legs, I smiled at him.

"No matter how much you want it… I will never be your perfect girl." His smirk dropped, and the blood drained from his face. I'd hit a nerve, though I wasn't sure which one, or which part had done it. He moved off me, standing up and stumbling back, face ashen, as though he'd seen a ghost.

"Mama…" He choked out before his eyes filled with tears and he let out one, long, heartbreaking wail before running to the door and exiting into the bright afternoon sunlight. I sat, dazed and confused, for a long moment before I realized he was gone, and he'd left all the supplies behind. I could take everything and run, right now, and there would be nothing he could really do about it. I could just go, tell somebody who I was, and I'd be home, just like that. Maybe they'd even catch Tate, and send him someplace he couldn't hurt anyone else, not even himself. Somewhere they could really make him better; with the drugs and the therapy I could never truly offer him.

I got up, quickly, finding some of my clothes folded neatly into one of the duffel bags. I grabbed everything off the floor and shoved it all back into the bag, zipping it up tight and slinging it over my shoulder. I couldn't find my shoes, but that didn't matter, I just needed to get to the reception office, and then call for help from there. Who gave a fuck about shoes, really? I got to the door and half expected it to be locked, for this to all be some cruel joke, but it opens and the sunlight blinds me. The air is different, the lighting is harsher, and I know we're not in California anymore.

"You're a long way from home, Dorothy," I whisper to myself, glad to be alone with my thoughts again. I slip out the door, glancing side to side at the rows of identical motel rooms, seeing the neon sign for the reception desk across the lot, a standalone building. I darted to the nearest set of steps, the metal burning the bottoms of my feet under the heat of the sun, but I barely feel it as I fly across the tarmac, reaching the building in less than thirty second. This is the fastest I've ever run. I wrench open the door and it gives, bathing my yellow-white skin in fluorescent light. There was no one behind the desk, but I saw the blinds in the office behind reception flicker slightly. Someone was back there, and they WOULD listen to me.

I dropped the duffel bags over the desk and hopped it, knocking on the office door. Of course, there was no answer. The receptionist was probably on lunch or something and just expected me to come back later. Well, that was a no-go. I knocked again, harder, before deciding I was just gunna have to burst in on this asshole's day and they were just going to have to deal with it. I shouldered the door open, stumbling through. The room was empty, but there were no exits. I took a few steps into the room.

"Hello?" It was a really fucking stupid thing to say, but I just couldn't wrap my mind around the crushing disappointment. I didn't want to be alone anymore. I couldn't do this without someone there to help me, even if they were a nine-to-five asshole that didn't care about me one bit. The door behind me closed, and I knew who it was without turning round. Of course, this was all one big game. Could I really expect anything else with him.

"Tate." I closed my eyes, dropping the bags to the floor, the fight leaving my body.

"Violet." I felt him pacing up behind me, the heat from his torso pulsing through the space behind us. "My Violet," he brushed the hair back from my neck, placing a kiss at the nape. "You're a traitor." His thumbs rolled circles onto my hips, pressing me back against him. I could feel his arousal against my ass. "Do you know what the Chinese used to do to traitors?" I held my breath, but he bit into my shoulder, intending to illicit a response from me. I shook my head, gasping in fear and an arousal I didn't understand. "They used to tie the traitor," he punctuated the offensive word with a lick to the shell of my ear, "up in public, and cut them, all over. It was slow," his fingers ghosted along the line of my underwear, my skirt bunched around my waist. I wonder where the receptionist really is. "And very, very painful. It was torture, as well as death, and a humiliation that just kept going and going." Two fingers dipped low into my underwear, sliding slowly along my slit. I knew I was wet, and now he knew it, too, if he hadn't guessed it before. "I really want you to learn, Violet. Don't you want to learn?" He held me tighter against him, curling my body over a little to give him better access. From this angle he could just barely slip his fingers inside of me, and it wasn't enough to be pleasurable. I had a feeling that was intentional. "Don't you?" Another bite to my shoulder, in the same spot, had me wincing.

"Yes! Yes, Tate, please," I whimpered, hating how desperate I sounded but not knowing another way to save myself other than to appease him.

"God, I love it when you beg," he voice was breathy and ragged. I was turning him on. Helplessness turned him on. "But," and the cold edge was back as he trailed his hand out of my underwear and smoothed my skirt down. The gesture was out of place in the circumstances. "In order to teach you, I have to punish you, too. Doesn't that seem fair?" I turned, looking over my shoulder. His face was close, flushed with arousal, dark eyes lust blown instead of angry.

"Yes, that seems fair. Punish me, Tate, and I'll never betray you again." His mouth parted and stretched into a slow, sexy smile, and he leaned around to kiss my cheek whilst the cool edge of a knife brushed gently down my arm.


	12. Scars

He shouldered the duffel bags easily, heaving them up without having to let go of my arm.

"You going to run?" he asked, knife still flush against my arm.

"No." What was the point? He grinned at me, pressing his lips to my temple and slipping the knife into his bag. He laced his fingers with mine, swinging my hand playfully as we emerged into the light of the parking lot.

"Where's the receptionist?"

"Get in the car, alright Violet?" He smiled tightly, dropping the bags into the backseat and walking round to my side to open the door for me. My face flushed at the gesture and I caught his hand as he withdrew, just the lightest brush of fingertips on his ruined knuckles, but it was important because I'd done it alone. I sat down; sealing my fate and watching him jog round to his side through the front window. He sat down, heavily, car bouncing up and down with the drop of his weight.

"Do you wanna listen to the radio?" He asked, glancing at me. I nodded, because I just needed something to fill the silence that didn't involve talking to him. The radio crackled to life, playing some screechy vocal through the speakers. I winced, smiling a little as I noticed Tate do the same next to me. We were the same in so many ways.

"It's only going to be bad for a little while, you know." I switched off the radio at the sound of his voice, more interested in talking to him than listening to it.

"Is it going to hurt?" I wasn't scared.

"Yes. I won't lie to you Violet. Punishments hurt. But after, you won't ever want to disobey me again." I swallowed thickly around the lump in my throat because I knew he meant it. The next motel was worse than the last, but I guess it was cheaper and I was in no state to complain. He locked me into the car when he went to book a room.

"All set," he leaned his head into the car and pulled the bags from the back. I rose stiffly from my seat and out the door to follow him to our room. The air was thick with tension and anticipation, accentuated by the stale, stagnant air in the room. Tate dropped the bags to the side and slipped his sneakers off. He sighed, looking me up and down where I stood frozen by the door.

"Well, Mrs. Langdon… what to do with you now?" There was something a little off in his eyes, and the use of the term Mrs. made me realize he wasn't himself anymore. He'd lost the plot again, slipping between reality and fantasy so quickly it was hard to keep track, or to think that he would ever be whole again. If he was in the first place. I didn't dare to move, barely breathing, terrified of provoking him in a way he didn't want me to. I thought I might have to wait for an eternity to gain some response from him. He glanced up at me through his hair, eyes lust-blown and curious as he shuffled forward toward me. I held my breath, believing implicitly that he could strangle me right here and now if he wanted to. He slipped a hand up around my throat and higher, grazing calloused fingers along my jaw and thumbing my lower lip, making it jut out.

"You're so beautiful. I almost wish I didn't have to punish something so pretty," he was musing to himself, but I felt hope flare up in me.

"The- then don't! I am with you Tate. I don't want to hurt. I don't want you to make me hurt," he closed his eyes, a finger vertical across my lips to hush me.

"It's too late for that." His voice was sad, and I wanted to scream at him for being such a fucking psychopath. Why couldn't I just be stronger? I should kill him. I'm sure I could bring him to his knees with a few careful words, and then just hit him, hard. The thought of ruining something so beautiful made me sick, but that wasn't why I didn't fight back, not really. I completely lacked a sense of self-preservation.

"Okay," I whispered, unable to bring myself to say anything more. He smiled, radiant in his triumph, and slipped his hand into mine. He tugged me away from the door and through the room, leading me to the bathroom. I knew it already, but he clarified anyway, "we can't afford to stain the carpets," and I flushed in fear at the confirmation. He sat me down on the toilet seat, and turned to close the door behind us.

"Please," I tried once more, the fight gone from me.

He sighed, eyes darkening, body beginning to visibly tense as he prepared himself for the task he felt necessary.

"I won't be able to do it right if you keep looking at me like that." He quirked an eyebrow and I had the absurd compulsion to apologize, but I held my tongue because even I wasn't so twisted and broken as to let him control me that much… yet. He took a few slow steps towards me, stopping short of his legs bumping my knees.

"Strip." It was a command, heavy with implication, as he'd pulled a short, sharp-bladed knife from his back pocket with his right hand whilst his left rested on the buckle of his belt. This was mixed signaling under normal circumstances, sex and violence, but perhaps to him it was the same thing. Perhaps it was the same to me, too, because I found myself squeezing my thighs together in a desperate attempt to create some needed friction. But I stood, ignoring the defiance I felt at the idea of obeying an order like some kind of pet, standing in front of him and keeping eye contact for as long as I could before my dress had to come off and covered my eyes. I felt his fingers on the exposed flesh immediately, though I couldn't see him until the dress had dropped to the floor behind me. He was close, and he'd crouched, hunching his back to embrace me with his face against my exposed chest. I kept my hands by my sides, resisting the urge to hold his face to me. I would deny him that one comfort.

"I don't want you to be scarred." The confession was a mumble against my skin, vibrations from his lips making me shiver.

"I just want to be pretty for you." Half lie. His head shot up and he was towering over me again, fingers digging into my shoulders.

"You are the most beautiful creature on the planet." His eyes were hard, forceful, and I believed him. "You could be covered in scars," his eyes melted again, like the night sky on a warm evening, "all kinds of scars," he laced his words with a double meaning, reminding me that we were not so different before all this began, "and you would continue to be the most beautiful woman I will ever know." He kissed my lips once, lightly, before slipping down my body again, paying careful attention to brushing his fingers or lips across my skin on the way. When he was kneeling before me, his eyes dropped from mine to stare at the cotton of my underwear. He leaned forward and placed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the fabric and I bit my lip to cease the whimper from erupting. He hooked his forefingers into the top of my underwear and dragged slowly down my thighs, letting go at the knees so they could drop soundlessly to the tiles below. I squirmed under his stare, unused to being scrutinized in a way that felt like an examination.

"You really are pretty everywhere," he mumbled, a faint smile splaying his lips. I closed my eyes, trying to hold on to the tenderness of the moment, which made the pain all the more searing when that short, sharp-bladed knife licked a line into my thigh. The cut was deep enough to bleed, but not so deep that he'd done any real damage. I inhaled sharply and grit my teeth, refusing to cry and become the helpless, wounded animal he wanted me to be. I glanced down in time to see his tongue dart from his mouth and lick a slow, salty trail up the length of the cut. He was close enough to brush against my clit with his curls. My legs were shaky now, because of the pain and the pleasure and the blood-loss and the shock. I watched him drag the blade slowly over my side, the line wobbling as it bumped over each of my ribs. He licked along that, too, and the next and the next. He stood in front of me and kissed my jawline, peppering up and down the length of it on the right hand side.

"But I just can't bring myself to ruin your face." I closed my eyes, expecting a slash across my cheeks that would forever mar my features, but it never came.

Almost impatiently, I opened my eyes to see what the hell he had planned next, but he wasn't in the room. I hadn't heard the door open and close behind him, but that probably had a lot to do with the roaring of the pulse in my ears, a warning from my heart and my brain that they were going to abandon ship pretty soon. Maybe he'd freaked out again and left me? Not that I had the strength to escape… not that I could survive another punishment. Before my woozy mind had enough time to comprehend my situation he was back, smiling apologetically as though he were late to a meeting or some other bullshit scenario. But he had a camera.

"Oh," I heard myself say it, but that was as far as my protesting went before he was propping me into positions and cataloguing my wounds, each wind, click and flash told me he'd taken 17 pictures to remind us both what my punishment meant. He sat me on the toilet seat again, slowly, which was a good thing because I couldn't stand up anymore. He sat down in front of me and ran a hand up my thigh; parallel to the cut he'd left.

"Does it hurt?" It didn't, anymore, which probably wasn't anything to celebrate. I nodded anyway, hoping that's what he wanted. "Want some endorphins?" Before I could force my brain to come up with some smart-ass remark his tongue was lapping at my folds and his teeth were grazing my clit and my head dropped back as I slumped against the toilet, colliding with the wall. He licked down to my entrance, delving his tongue into me, fucking me with it in a way I'd never imagined could feel this good. His fingers crawled up to join his tongue, replacing it and pushing in and out of me whilst his tongue went back to my clit, bringing me quickly to a climax. I managed a tiny whimper as I came, too weak to vocalize how good I was really feeling. He knelt in front of me, raising himself up to a couple of feet below me. I flinched back, afraid of more pain and punishment, and his eyes filled with tears.

"Violet? Violet, listen to me. I don't want you to be afraid of me. Not now, not ever, okay?" His voice and his eyes were so sincere that if it had been any other time, any other place, I'd have believed him. But it wasn't, and he was still holding that knife. I glanced down towards it and he followed my eyes, sucking in a breath when he realized. I thought he might drop it, as a way of telling me the punishment was over, but instead he raised it and I closed my eyes, feeling him uncurl the fist I'd balled my hand into and… place the knife in my palm. Not into, but in, resting in it. I curled my fingers around the handle, opening my eyes and looking down at it in confusion. Tate sat back on his heels and bowed his head.

"Violet, I'll never hurt you like that again. But I need you. I need you to not be scared of me, and to trust me, if you can. So, here." He looked up, eyes wide and childlike. "I know I won't be able to live without you, even if you're here but not really here. If you can't be with me now, if you don't love me and won't love me, then kill me. I don't wanna be without you, ever." He tilted his head to the side, exposing the pale, strong expanse of his neck. And I could do it. Right now, I could just stab him in the neck. I'd get off on self-defense, probably not even a criminal record the minute they see what he did to me. I could go home, where my parents would dote on me and remind me how much they love me, daily. For a few months, maybe a year. Then everyone would forget, I would no longer be the novelty, wonder survivor, and I would be alone. Tate loved me, and was devoted to me 100%. He was a fucked up, psycho head-case, but he loved me. I probably sound like one of those sad, fat chicks that marry guys on death row, but it's not like that. It's not, it's not. I pressed the knife against his throat, forcing his head up. I added a little pressure, enough to draw a tiny bead of blood from an impact point on his Adam's apple. He smiled.

"I love you, Violet," he whispered, closing his eyes. Maybe I could have done it, had it not been for his final, reaffirming confession and that too-peaceful smile on his face. He was willing and ready to face death, so long as it was at my hands. He didn't own me, he was never trying to. He was grappling with the fact that I owned HIM and didn't seem to want him. I tossed the blade into the sink beside me and it clattered against the porcelain. He opened his eyes, shock and confusion the overwhelming emotions on his face.

"I love you, Tate." It was all the explanation either of us needed, and he wriggled happily between my legs and nuzzled his face into my stomach. "I need medical attention." I added and he pulled away, face all serious as he helped me up and staggered the few steps to the bathtub. He lifted me into it because I was too weak to lift my legs, and turned on the shower.

"We gotta wash the blood off now, and then I'll bandage you up, and we can go to bed, okay? Won't that be nice?" I nodded, letting myself fall against his clothed chest as he rinsed me with warm water, not caring that he was sitting in a tub, fully clothed.

I felt him press kisses into the back of my neck as he held me, and I felt him stroke his fingers against my skin as he wrapped gauze and tape across each cut, and I heard him sigh my name in his sleep as he shuffled towards me subconsciously, and I knew I'd made the right, fucked up decision when I chose not to kill him. _I'd made my bed,_ I thought to myself as I tangled my legs against Tate's bare ones, _might as well sleep in it. _


	13. Adjusting

**So, I absolutely have to dedicate this update to jandjsalmon and shootingstella, because they are just the BEST!**

**Action is coming real soon, guys, I promise. Thanks for your continued patience and support, I have the most wonderful readers/reviewers!**

I shivered awake, wondering why my legs felt so cold when the room was so warm. I cracked an eye open, and observed as Tate removed my bandages and careful rinsed the wounds with cold water and a piece of white cotton that looked suspiciously like one of his shirts. I bit my lip, touched that he cared enough to wake up early so I would be in less pain this morning.

"Tate?" I phrased it like a question though there was no one else I could be expecting. He looked up, smiling, a blush staining his face.

"I got a little carried away last night, huh?" His question was laced with embarrassment, like a kid caught making a little mistake, not marring someone's skin. I nodded. "You're still beautiful, you know that right?"

"No," I mumbled, louder than I'd meant to and knowing he'd hear me. He stopped washing the blood from my skin and sloshed the cloth down into the rust-colored water bowl beside the bed.

"Violet, Violet," he sighed, crawling up and between my legs, pushing me down with my back to the bed and leaning on his wrists above me. "We both know that isn't true, don't we?"

"Umm," I tried to look anywhere but at him, but his eyes were boring into my face, hollowing out my cheeks more rapidly than the starvation ever could.

"I've given up everything for you, Violet." Everything for you, more like.

"I know." He pressed a warm kiss to my closed lips, prying them apart with his own and slipped his tongue into my mouth, gliding it across the inside of my lip. He hummed against my gums, sending little vibrations through my throat. Tate pulled back and pressed his crotch down gently against my underwear, but I wasn't into it. Everything ached and my wounds stung and I was still weakened by last night's pleasure, but I knew he was a teenage boy and he'd need a little something now and again, and from the way he was rutting against my core, he wanted sex. I couldn't let that happen, so I pulled my mouth away from his.

Let me make you feel good, Tate," I whispered, trying to be as seductive as I could. He smirked.

"I feel good when you feel good," he mumbled, sitting back and holding a leg out to pepper round my cut thigh with dry brushes of his lips. I carefully slid my leg out from under his grasp and sat up, ignoring the stiffness in my back from holding myself up under Tate's torture last night. I slid my hands shakily down his chest and slipping my fingers into the waistband of his boxers. He was already hard, the outline of his dick was pressing against the fabric straining him and I felt my mouth get dry just thinking about it. What had seemed like a task before, to pleasure him, now felt like anticipation. I wanted to taste the weight and salt of him on my tongue and hear the sounds he made when I pleasured him. I dragged his boxers over his hips and down to his knees.

"Violet," his breath was shaky. "You don't… you don't have to…"

"Shh," I shushed him with a finger to his lips for a moment before pushing him to the end of the bed. "I want to," I added quietly, moving off the bad and round to the bottom of it to kneel before him. I placed my palms on his knees and let out a shaky breath.

"Like I said, don't rush. I love you anyways," his thumb and forefinger stroked along my chin and I glanced up to meet his eyes, reassurance plastered all over his face. It made me more confident, so I drew courage from his gaze as long as I could before dropping my eyes to the impossibly large problem at hand. I gripped him at the base and he shuddered, breath spilling through his teeth in what I hoped was pleasure as much as it was surprise.

"Gnhggg, Violet," he gargled, his chin falling hard on his chest and his fingers knotting in my hair, pushing my face towards his waiting erection. I complied, wrapping my lips hesitantly around the head of his dick and giving an experimental, hard little suck. "Shiiiiii" he squeaked, voice pitching all over the place. I took that as a good sign, so I slipped more and more of him into my mouth, until he reached the back of my throat, just pressing on my gag point. I hummed around him and he bucked, slipping harder down my throat and activating the gag reflex I had to work hard to keep under control. I closed my eyes and breathed long through my nose for a moment, adjusting to the sting and the pressure in my throat before pulling off him completely and spreading my tongue along the slit and sliding him back down my throat as far as I could, compensating for the excess with squeezing, limber fingers. His fingers tightened further and deeper into my hair, pushing me harder down onto him and pulling me off, on, off, fucking my face, but I enjoyed it more than I maybe should.

"I love you so much Violet, agh, I'm gunna make you come so hard after this I swear to godddd," he babbled and I rolled my eyes, internally smirking at his incoherence. I guess I must be pretty good at this. Or he was really, really desperate for it. It was strange, I could sense when he was close to his climax, his whole body tensed and rolled with the tension in his lower stomach, so I was squeezing his base harder and sucking him hard enough to hollow my cheeks before he even warned me.

"I'm gunna… god Violet, pull off if y-" I sucked harder and harder, jerking my mouth and hand up and down as much as I could whilst keeping the tight suction and it was obviously appreciated, because his hips jerked up as he started coming undone, spasms jerking through his body as he thrust up and down into my mouth and spilled his load down my throat. When he was finished he slumped back onto the bed and released my hair from between his fingers, but I crawled up his body and wrapped myself around his naked form anyway, wanting the closeness despite everything.

"Thanks," he managed and I smiled against his chest at the gesture.

"That's okay. It was kind of… fun," I confessed, wrinkling my nose in disgust at myself for even thinking that, but it was true. I'd enjoyed pleasuring him, it was a huge confidence boost, and he made the most appealing noises when he was enjoying himself.

"Want me too…?" He trailed off his question with fingers slipping down my stomach but I rolled away from him.

"Nah, you wore me out last night," I added a little laugh to put him at ease and he rolled onto his side, head propped on his hand, smirking like he'd won the lottery.

"Well, I am the master," he grinned, all dimples, but my light mood had dropped at the double meaning in his words. He was my master in more ways that one, he owned me now even though I didn't want him too. He obviously put two and two together with the dampening on my expression at his words.

"Hey, hey," he shuffled closer to me and wriggled his face around in front of mine until I met his eyes, though I was grateful he hadn't touched me. "You're my master more than I am yours, you know that much, right? What we have is just," he sighed, dropping onto his back. I had to observe him, he was so beautiful when he was searching for words like this, eyebrows knitted slightly together. "Intense. It's intense, Violet." I nodded.

"For me, too. But…" I trailed off, not knowing what I really wanted to see. It seemed so pointless to reason with him now or try to tell him what we were doing was wrong, because I wasn't so sure of it myself. If I convinced him to let me go home, I'm not sure I would have the strength to leave him, not really.

"Buuuuut?" He elongated the word to give me a chance to elaborate, but I just smiled and shook my head, rolling back onto my stomach and propping myself up, cocking my head to the side with a smile.

"But nothing. Not really. Tate… I'm sort of hungry," I hated having to bring it up, especially with the knowledge that he'd skipped meals for me, but I needed to remind him about the basics because he just didn't think in terms of survival.

"Oh!" His eyes widened and he leapt out of bed. "I got you food!" He rummaged through the bag for a moment and I sat up to admire the muscular planes of his back and the curve of his ass, almost disappointed when he turned around but mood improving dramatically when he held out a sandwich to me.

"Thanks," I smiled, ripping it open and taking a huge bite of one half before I'd even taken a breath. Tate perched on the edge of the bed, watching me with a smile on his mouth but an out of focus, almost hungry look in his eyes. I stopped eating, feeling guilty suddenly at the thought of how selfish I was being. I pulled the other half of the sandwich out and held it to him. "You gotta eat," I reminded him.

"No, no, Violet, it's all for you." Tate put his hands behind his back and pressed his lips together. I sighed, cramming the rest of my half in my mouth and crawling towards him. I pressed my lips to his, waiting for the tension to leave his muscles and his arms to curl around my waist. I pulled away from his mouth and smiled at him, keeping my face close to his.

"I love you, Tate." He hummed, smiling, eyes darting between my gaze and my lips, breathing heavy. I could tell he wanted to kiss me again, but I could feel his ribs against mine and that wasn't right. "Which is why you have to eat. I can't lose you, okay?" He nodded, though I wasn't sure if he was really listening, if he wasn't just caught up in my proximity. I held the sandwich up and pressed it lightly to his mouth. "Open, baby," I added the nickname because it always worked wonders, and true to form Tate opened his mouth and took a bite. We had to stay that way until the whole sandwich was gone, because he kept shaking his head and turning away, hating himself for eating what he'd set aside for me. When it was finished I sat back on my heels and he sat back on his, arms folded across his bare chest and lip jutting out in a pout. He was sulking.

"Want to take a shower with me?" I asked, desperate for some kind of response from him other than a betrayed glare he never fixed on me for more than a second.

"No."

"You mad at me?" It was absurd, but I didn't want him to be. Things were better when he was holding me. Even his punishments were better than his silence, his indifference. If I didn't have his affections, I didn't have anything.

"No. I'm mad at me." Reassurance, but he still wasn't looking at me.

"Why?"

"I'm failing you, as a husband." Was he slipping again? So soon?

"You're not my husband." I was feeling bold, but regretted it the moment his head snapped up and his cold glare and stiff expression settled on me.

"Maybe not on paper, but we've still got your wedding dress, baby. You're my wife as good as anything," he raised one eyebrow, daring me to argue with him. I opened and closed my mouth in disbelief but he didn't change his stance or his challenging expression, so I closed my mouth and stood.

"I'm going to shower."

"I'll probably join you in little while." With a bit of luck he wouldn't because I needed some time to contemplate and adjust to the fact that I was Mrs. Tate Langdon now.


	14. A Place of our own

It was nice to be alone for a while, even if I knew Tate was just on the other side of the door and I hadn't locked it, hadn't wanted to. I mean, things could be so much worse than this, couldn't they? Tate could have killed me, or worse, he could have left me back in California to rot amongst people who would never understand me as he understands me. He could have done that, so things could be so much worse. But, still. I slipped down the shower wall, hunching up under the flow of water and wishing I could dissolve into it. I'm seventeen years old. The sob tore up my throat and bubbled between my lips before I could stop it, and the shaky, high-pitched sound of it reverberated and echoed around the room. I knew he'd have heard if he was listening, and he was always listening out for me. _That's what people do when they care about someone. _I clamped my hand over my mouth and hunched my legs up closer to me, knocking my chin on my knees but comforted by the closeness, even if it was me holding myself. After all, it had been this way before Tate, and if he were caught it would be this way again. I knew I had to protect him, and be strong for him when he couldn't be strong for himself anymore, but it wasn't that simple, because I'm seventeen years old.

They came later than I was expecting, and I could picture his hesitation the other side of the door, not sure if this was a private moment he had access to. Three light taps, so timid I barely heard them over the sound of the water, probably wouldn't have if I hadn't been listening out for them just a little, waiting for him to come to my rescue.

"Tate?" My voice was barely above a whimper.

"Can I come in?" I could hear the strain in his voice and it made me feel guilty.

"Yes." The door cracked open enough for his head to pop round, eyes red-rimmed and hair sticking up in tufts, a product of his frustration.

"What did I do?" His voice was miserable; he dropped to the floor to crawl into the cubicle beside me, on all fours, not touching me. He was being careful.

"You didn't. Tate, I'm so scared."

"What are you scared of?"

I glanced up at him, taking my fist from my mouth and forcing myself to look into his eyes. I couldn't tell if the moisture on his cheeks came from him or the shower.

"Lately? Everything." His face crumpled and he closed the gap between us, shoving my legs apart to pull me onto his lap and push my face against his shoulder. I managed to wrap my arms around his neck and turned my face to press my lips against his neck, just to feel him.

"I could live a thousand years and never deserve you, Violet," he gasped, hands running desperately over my back, waist, hips, shoulders. We stayed like that until the water ran cold and we were shuddering, I couldn't feel my lips but I welcomed the numbness, content with just feeling his pulse thump thump against my cheek. Eventually I heard him sigh and pull away from me, sliding his legs out from under mine and standing, pulling me up. I wobbled a little, but I didn't want to be carried so I forced my legs to work. He smiled at my efforts and reached around to shut off the water before taking my hand and leading me out of the soaked bathroom. I barely registered that I was still naked, and he was fully clothed, but it became irrelevant as he stripped his sopping clothes off, keeping eye contact as best he could until he was naked, too. Usually this would have been enough to set me biting my lip and squeezing my hips together, but the juts of bone through his pale skin looked brittle and breakable, and they just reminded me of the really big, really scary destiny I had, and I'm seventeen years old.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," he smiled and dived onto the bed beside me, wriggling under the blankets and holding them open for me, just his eyes and nose peeking out of the top. I smiled at how cute he was and obliged, burying down next to him and curling myself around him.

"Where do we go from here?" I whispered, not sure I wanted the answer, if he even had one.

"We'll take care of it." It wasn't a proper answer, but it was better than anything he'd ever given me, because he'd acknowledged that this was _us, _not him, and we _shared_ responsibility for our future now. I closed my eyes, feeling peaceful for the first time, truly in weeks.

I woke to the light brushes of his lips on my cheeks, forehead, finally my lips. I opened my eyes slowly, adjusting to the brightness I'd expected from the warmth of sunlight on my face.

"Hey Violet," his voice was quiet and measured, as though he didn't want to spook me. I sat up quickly, wrapping my arms around his neck. Last night had been real.

"Tate," I mumbled, pressing my lips harshly against his neck and trailing them down to land an open-mouthed kiss on his collarbone. He pushed me away lightly and smiled, reaching a hand up to brush my scruffy hair from my face.

"We're moving on in a minute, Violet, it's not safe here anymore." His face turned serious for a moment, and he glanced to the window.

"What do you…?" I cut myself off, knowing we could have this conversation later. We couldn't afford to take risks. I stood up and went to the already packed bags, pulling out a pair of his boxers and a summery looking dress, rolling my eyes at how impractical he'd been when picking out my clothes. I slipped them on and the dress over my head, running my fingers through my hair to smooth it behind my ears and smiled at him.

"I'm ready." He beamed, standing and bouncing over to lift me a little, pressing his lips to mine.

"You're perfect. C'mon," he mumbled the last word against my mouth, shouldering the duffel bags again and dragging me to the door, and it was as though we had never been there. The thought filled me with an unexplainable emptiness, but I waited until we'd packed up and driven far out of the state before I voiced my thoughts.

"Do you think we'll ever have a place of our own?"

"Why do… I don't know. It won't be easy…" He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth while he mulled it over, rolling the question around in his mind.

"Just! It's just that I saw that room earlier, and we left like we'd never been there, and I just, I don't want to _share_ this with the world, but I want to have _something, _you know?"

"Violet, we do! We have each other." I huffed out a breath, knowing there was no other outcome to this discussion now.

"I know." I turned to look out the window, and Tate shut off the radio. We drove in silence for minutes that felt like hours, and I was just getting up the nerve to turn the radio back on when he flicked his indicator and we turned onto a dirt road closed in by trees.

"Tate…" I trailed, the engine shut off and Tate got out, striding round the front bonnet and wrenching open my door, pulling me out.

"I have driven 55 miles out of our route for this. You're coming with me." That was all the explanation I got, so I just stumbled along behind him, unable to keep up with his purposeful pace. He pulled me directly through some bushes, and I wondered if he really knew where we were. I closed my eyes as the branches scratched at my face and only opened them again when I was standing upright and in the open again. I breeze blew through my hair and I scrunched my brow in confusion.

"Open your eyes, Violet," his voice was close to me, his lips millimetres from my ear. I obliged, stumbling back a step at the beauty of the beach before me.

"I'm sorry, Violet," he came around and stood in front of me, obstructing my view of the ocean but giving me an even more breathtaking view of his face in the sunlight.

"You have nothing to be sorry for." I was firm on this.

"I hurt your feelings back there. If you love someone you should never hurt them. So I'm sorry." He reached out to take my hand in his, brushing his thumb over my knuckles.

"It's okay, Tate, I… forgive you," I stuttered over the word, not sure what it meant, to us at least. What could I possible forgive him for, when he didn't really want forgiveness? Neither of us regretted him taking me with him, kidnap or not.

He sucked in a sharp breath, rocking back on his heels before rocking forward to press his lips to mine. His were harsh and chapped, but the perfect warmth and pressure against mine. I laced my fingers together behind his head, deepening the kiss and pressing my body into his. He held me to him, caressing my sides with his fingertips but making sure we stayed this way. I tried to be more insistent, tugging on his hair in a way I knew he liked, but he pulled his lips from mine.

"Not here. That's not why I brought you here. C'mon," his breathing was labored, which did nothing to cool me down, but I rolled my eyes and wrapped an arm around his waist. He slung an arm across my shoulders in turn, holding me to his side as we crossed slowly across the sand.

"How did you find this place?" I asked.

"I ran away from home when I was… ten I think. I hitched to here and then just sat by the ocean for hours, daring myself to walk out and never come back. I stayed back there…" he gestured to the wooded area behind us, "and spent my days right here, looking out and wondering if I'd ever have the courage to end what should never have started." I bit my lip, tightening my grip around him until he looked down at me.

"I'm glad you didn't." He smiled.

"Me too. I wouldn't have you otherwise, would I?" I felt myself flush with happiness, looking out at the waves to hide the blush staining my cheeks.

"This isn't why we're here, either." He smirked, gesturing back at the trees. I quirked an eyebrow, taking off in the direction of the forest, feeling him scramble to chase me. He caught up just as we hit the line of trees closest to us, wrapping both arms around my waist and nuzzling his face into my neck. He broke away after a moment, darting from tree to tree, feeling the bark with his fingers. I watched him with a bemused little smile on my face, hand on hip, until he clapped his hands and dug around in his pocket. I walked over, too curious to act like I didn't care what he was doing.

"Tate…"

"You said you wanted something that was ours, Violet," I couldn't stop the tears this time, they sprung to my eyes and spilled over at the carving he'd roughed out of the bark.

"Violet and Tate." I reached out to trace the freshly scarred wood, licking my lips slowly as I traced the letters. He'd driven 50 miles to make me smile, just like this.

"Do you like it?" He'd shoved his hands in his pockets, scuffling his shoe against the dirt. I launched myself at him, showering his face with salty, tear-stained kisses.

"I like it. I love you," He pushed me back and smiled.

"You really meant that." His dimples flashed at me and I smirked.

"Of course I did. We're married, aren't we?" I was teasing him.

"No, we're not married. I know I can get a little crazy sometimes Violet, but it's just because I want it to be like that, so, so badly."

"Hey, it's okay. Me too." He cocked his head to the side, looking me up and down, before bending down and hoisting me over his shoulder.

"Tate!" I squeaked, in surprise and defiance, but he just chuckled and began carrying me back to the car.

"Sorry baby, but if you keep looking at me like that, we won't make it back to the car."

"Keep looking at you like _what?_" I huffed, feeling woozy as the blood rushed to my head.

"Like you want to eat me. I might just let you," his voice turned husky, and at this angle I could see the slight tent forming in his pants. I bit my lip, deciding that if I couldn't get down, I'd have to find another way to take control of the situation. I let my dangling arms 'accidently' knock into his crotch and he stopped walking abruptly.

"Violet," his voice was a warning.

"Yes?" I sang, feigning innocence completely.

"Don't… do that."

"Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to, honest," I tried to make myself sound entirely surprised. He sighed, continuing to walk back to the car. I waited a few more moments, counting three of his jerky steps before I harshly groped him. He stopped again, taking in a shaky breath, before powering on, walking faster than before. I gave up, content with the considerable erection straining against his pants so close to my face. We broke through the pushes again and Tate stopped short again.

"I never touched you that time!" I whined, but received no biting retort. "Tate?" I added. He bent down to let me off his shoulder, setting me on my feet in front of him.

"I know. I know. I love you, Violet." He cupped my face in both his hands, pulling my face close to his and kissing my lips, chaste but meaningful.

"I… I love you, Tate, what's the matter?" I tried to turn my head, but he held my face firm.

"No, no, look at me, okay, just me. You gotta listen to me, okay Violet?"

I nodded. "Tate, you're scaring me," I whimpered and he closed his eyes.

"Whatever happens, Violet, it's me and you, together for always." I nodded again.

"Why are you saying this?" I asked, jerking out of his grip suddenly and stepping back.

"I'm so sorry, Violet. I don't want to leave you alone, not ever," his eyes had filled with tears, and he never broke eye contact as he knelt down slowly before me and finally broke the contact, mouthing 'love you' as he lay down on the dirt in front of me, holding his head defensively. I couldn't bring myself to turn around, to take my eyes off him when everything began falling apart, so I stood frozen as the SWAT member shuffled round me and pressed the barrel of a gun to Tate's neck, and another came to stand in front of me.

"Are you Violet Harmon?" The voice was harsh and sounded alien, probably because I'd heard no one but Tate for however long.

"Y-yes," I tried to peer round the man, desperate to make sure Tate was okay. The man in front of me swiped out a radio and pressed it to his mouth.

"Dispatch we need an emergency call out to Devil's Point, suspect is detained and hostage is recovered, though appears injured, over." The radio crackled and I blinked, sure he wasn't talking about me. I wasn't injured. I held out my arms before myself, shaking my head in bewilderment at the lacerations covering my arms, my legs. A heavy blanket was placed on my shoulders, quelling the cold I didn't know I was feeling. I closed my eyes, shaky. My eyes snapped open and I lurched forward at the sound of a scuffle and Tate crying out.

"Please, no! He'll go peacefully!" I yelled, panicked at the rough way the SWAT team were handling him, wrenching his arms behind his back and dragging him to his feet.

"Tate!" His head turned to find me, eyes watery as he met mine.

"You'll be okay, Violet," he called, as he was dragged to a squad car and slammed inside, officers swarming to obscure my vision. I was led to a stretcher and pushed gently down onto it, being loaded into the back of an ambulance with sirens blaring and a female in uniform scrutinizing my face.

I closed my eyes, taking Tate's hand in mine and walking fearlessly out into the ocean.


	15. Entrails

"Violet, we're here to help you."

"Violet, you need to come to terms with what's happened to you, we're here to help you do that."

"It's okay to be scared, Violet, but we're not going to hurt you."

_Where's Tate?_

"Violet, your mother is here to see you. Are you ready to see her?"

_My mother? Vivien doesn't care about me. _

"Honey, baby girl, its mom. I'm here. You're so brave, Violet." She smiled at me, but I could barely hold her gaze for more than a second before the panic took over me and I had to look away because her eyes were all wrong.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Harmon, but we can't let her go like this. She's not well enough yet, she hasn't started coping with what's happened to her."

"Will she ever get better, Doctor?"

_There's nothing wrong with me. I just need Tate. _

"Violet," the voice is softer, female, and I'm sure it's a new one, though I've lost count of how many experts and how many well-wishers have stopped by. "Violet, I'd like you to eat something. Do you think you can do that?" I nodded; I didn't want him to get mad at me for not eating. I didn't want to make him cry. I stared at the sandwich like it was a slap in the face. It was the second day of school again and Leah was shoving me against the car. It was Saturday; Leah's brother was singeing my skin against the flames on the beach. I carefully, gingerly lifted one half, eating it in slow, paced bites. It was perfectly good, and I was hungry, but I forced myself to savour it because we didn't have much food. I gently pushed the plate away from me, noticing how blue-ish and skeletal my hands looked.

"Aren't you hungry anymore, Violet?" I shook my head. "Can you just try to eat a little more?" She pushed the sandwich towards me again. I shook my head.

"I can't." My voice sounded unfamiliar to myself, and the woman in front of me blinked in surprise. "Why not?" A smile was splitting her features. She thought she'd cracked into me.

"Tate… has to have the other half. Or we'll starve." I crossed my arms and rested my head back against the pillows. _He's going to be so proud of me. I can't trust these people. We'll be okay, soon. I wonder where we're going, after the beach. _

"Violet, sweetheart," I jerked away from the light press off fingers on my shoulder, too gentle and too feminine. Tate wouldn't like it if she were touching me like this. He'd bash her skull in and eat the pieces. "Don't you… remember what happened?"

"I remember," I was defiant. They were treating me like a mental patient, like I would slit my wrists at any moment… like I was fragile. If only she knew I was more likely to slit her throat than myself, because Tate would be furious with me for mutilating myself. It always upset him to see my scars.

"So… you know that Tate can't get to you anymore. You're safe, in the hospital. Don't worry; Tate will be behind bars for a very, very long time. You'll never hear from him again." She smiled, all clinical, and I wondered why she was being so very cruel. If I were really in a hospital, shouldn't she be trying to comfort me, calm me? I could hear an erratic beeping and wondered if it were another cliché, my heart monitor showing the race in my pulse at hearing his name. The woman glanced up at it and then back at me, eyes sympathetic.

"Poor thing, you're scared half to death, aren't you? I'll go get your mother. Would you like that?" She was up and gone, not turning to acknowledge the shake of my head. I turned my head to look out the window, though the nondescript scenery gave me no indication of where we were. The door to my room opened again, and I knew it would be my mother. I didn't turn my head.

"Violet? Baby?" I sighed, sitting up and acknowledging her existence because I didn't want to hurt her. I was dying inside, but I didn't know how much time I would have with Vivien before me and Tate had to take off again, so I may as well leave her with happy memories.

"Mom," I greeted her, flatly. Her eyes were filled with tears, and for once I thought they might be genuine. I guess she'd been worried about me these past months, like the police said she had, like the police said everyone had.

"I was so scared, baby, but I never gave up looking for you." I frowned.

"I wasn't lost, mom."

"Violet," her lower lip quivered.

"No, I wasn't lost. I was with Tate. I couldn't be lost with Tate; he knew where we were the whole time. He planned it all, mom." Her tears were falling freely now.

"My poor baby, look at what he's done to you." She stood up. "I'm so sorry, Violet. I won't be gone long I just… I need," she trailed off with a sob, darting from the room and rounding the corner. I could hear the wail of her cry from my room; I guess hospitals are always full of echoes of ghosts.

I sighed, closing my eyes because it's only in my head that I can be with him until he gets here. He runs away sometimes, after all, but he always comes back and as long as I sit tight and wait for him there won't be any punishment. There will be only good.

"I miss you," I whispered, within myself or outward I didn't care. I didn't understand why these people were shocked that I missed him. He's my fiancé, practically my husband, after all, and they'd taken him away from me. Of course I was going to miss him, how could I not?

I think I slept for a while this time. I knew I'd taken the pills away from Tate but he could always have had more. I trust him but he thinks he knows what's best for me when he doesn't. I crunched my eyes tighter closed before opening them, expecting a happy Tate, or a nervous Tate, or a sad Tate or a crazy Tate but a Tate all the same. I was, instead, met with the harsh cut of the florescent lights and the concerned but manufactured reassurance on the faces of three doctors and a nurse. One was wearing a surgical mask and gloves like I was rapid. I didn't need surgery so the whole thing was ridiculous. Mind you, my dreams usually are… ridiculous or nightmares, or sometimes both. This was both.

"Morning, Violet, how are you feeling today?" The doctor nearest to me asked, smiling warmly down at me. It was intimidating, nothing like the way Tate would tower over me, a protective wall encircling me in its arms and pressing against every inch of me.

"Good," I lied; because it was my dream and I could play this however the hell I wanted.

"That's good!" The smile never wavered; it was unnerving, as though it had been stitched into his gums from the inside.

"Where's Tate?" I asked, because it was my dream and I could play this however the hell I wanted. I still wanted Tate. In every reality, waking or within my mind, I still wanted Tate.

"He's gone away. You're safe now, in a hospital. You're going to get better. You were very lucky, Violet."

"I am," I agreed, nodding sincerely. "I'm the only one who ever got to see who he was, you know?" I wasn't' focused on any of the doctors individually, and I guess that was a good thing because they were all looking at each other and having a private conversation through facial expressions that I was not a part of.

"Violet," The first doctor gestured to the others, who filed out the room silently, having not said a word the entire time, observing me like a lab rat, a nutcase, a paragraph in a text book for later analysis. He perched on the edge of my bed and I skidded away from him, unable to be subtle in my panic. If Tate saw how close he'd gotten to me then, he'd slice him apart and tie me up with his entrails. "Violet, Tate is a violent, troubled boy. He murdered a young girl, one that went to his school, one you knew. He almost murdered her brother shortly after. He took you away from your family and your friends. He mutilated you. Violet, I believe you are suffering from something called Stockholm syndrome." I blinked, uncomprehendingly.

"I… don't understand."

"That's okay, that's okay. Stockholm Syndrome is a condition born out of a-"

"No, shithead, I understand what Stockholm syndrome is. I don't understand why you think I have it. I'm not some sick fuck, okay?" He sighed and patted my knee.

"He'll rip your head off if you touch me again. He said so himself." I just though he should have some fair warning. I was trying to be nice! But he stood up, eyes troubled and mouth no longer smiling. I guess someone pulled those happy stitches out of his gums.

"He told you he would rip my head off?"

"If you touch me again," I reminded him helpfully. I didn't want anyone accusing Tate of violent behaviour without a cause. He always had a reason. He was a protective person, it's not like that's a bad thing.

"I think you should get some rest now. I need to consult with my team." He left without another word and I sighed, closing my eyes in contentment and ready to re-immerse myself in the reality where Tate was waiting for me, hunched and fragile and loving. I could hear the doctors talking outside the room, their voices being channelled by the ghosts in the hallways, but I was too tired to care and it sounded fuzzy anyway, so I wasn't going to stress about finding out what they said. I mean, it's not like it's really going to effect me either way, they'll diagnose me with whatever they think I've got, pop some pills in my hand and send me on my merry way so I can start to plan my reunion with Tate. I know the system like the back of my hand… they'd never screw me over, Tate wouldn't let them.


	16. Letters

**We're almost there, readers. This is the penultimate chapter of 'Tate's Conscience'. It's been more than a blast to write this, and I love every single person who has read, commented, subscribed and stuck with this little creation. I promise it won't be long until I post the final chapter. **_  
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_Dear Tate,_

_I don't know if you're getting my letters. I guess not, because you'd reply, wouldn't you? You wouldn't just… not reply. I didn't do bad, did I? I don't even know what to say, Tate. I love you. I don't know when we'll be together again… they won't let me see you. Worse, they tell me I don't want to see you. They act like they know me, like they can get inside my head. I know they can't, because if they could all they'd see is you. You're on my mind all the time. All the goddamn time, Tate. I want to be Mrs Langdon. I mean, it's bullshit, all of it. They don't understand what we've been through, and you're right. _

_All those times you told me no one would understand us, you were right. So I'm sorry. Tate, I'm sorry I ever made you punish me, and I'm sorry for causing you pain. You'd be free if you hadn't come back for me, but you stayed and you saved my life. I tried telling them that, but they just looked at each other and not at me. _

_I'll write to you tomorrow. _

_I love you,_

_Violet Langdon_

The days were dragging; the only reason I even bothered to wake up was to check for letters from Tate. I didn't even know if they let prisoners write letters, but I couldn't give up.

Morning, Violet," the same nurse that brought me my breakfast every morning entered the room, careful to wait for the door to click closed and automatically lock before moving away. I was still a flight risk I guess, even though it had been over a week and I'd only tried to run once. I didn't have anywhere to go. I had to wait for Tate. He'd find me when he got out. He'd get out.

"Hi," I didn't want to talk to her, to anyone really, but if I wanted them to stop treating me like a head case I'd have to at least make small talk.

"How're you feeling today?"

"Better." It was the same conversation ever day, as though I were on a loop. My life was nothing without him.

"Nothing today, darling," she volunteered at my hopeful, expectant expression, which fell instantly.

"Oh."

"I don't think they let him write…" she squirmed a little under the penetration of my stare, interested now in the little information she let slip.

"Has he been getting my letters?" She bit her lip.

"I don't know. I know they get delivered because they never get returned here, but if they ever reach him personally, I don't know." She was being honest, I could tell, and I suddenly felt an unexplainable attachment to the woman.

"Would you sit with me, please?" I asked, injecting as much sweetness into my voice as I could manage. She smiled, obviously encouraged by my 'progress', and perched on the edge of my bed. "They think I'm crazy, don't they?" I asked, sighing.

"Not crazy, Violet. They think you have Stockholm Syndrome. It can make you think you're in love with your captors. It can be pretty serious, I think."

"I know. I've heard them mention it. Even mention it to me," her smile turned sad, pitying, and I tried to close up.

"Look, I'm no doctor, and I can't give you a professional opinion, but if he's what's been keeping you going in here, hold onto him." I nodded, touched by her acceptance of the way things were, and she got up.

"Could you?" I broke off, unsure how to ask her and how far I could cross boundaries.

"I'll enquire about your letters, Violet. I'll see you for lunch." She waved her fingers as she left the room and I rested my head back against the pillows, feeling the peace that comes with progress for the first time in weeks.

I wondered and wondered about Tate. All the time. I just wanted to know he was okay. I mean, he's in prison, so it's not going to be five star luxury or anything, but I'd just like to know he's safe, and I'd like him to know I'm still here for him. Most people would find the way I love him terrifying, but our relationship is the only thing I've ever done right in my life. If people knew the Tate that I knew, they wouldn't lock him up. They'd let him be free, like a bird, the free he needs to survive. When my mother asked me if I'd known what he'd done, I said yes. When she asked if I'd been frightened I'd said yes, but only because I wasn't afraid of him. There's nothing scarier than that moment when you realise you're not afraid at all.

'But Violet honey, he tortured you.' It's never that simple though, is it? He loved me in the only way he knew how.

'Ms Harmon, you'll never recover from these injuries.' He left me with the gift of a thousand memories tattooed across my skin. How could that be seen as anything but beautiful to anyone who understands what kind of place the world really is?

'Violet, for god's sake, you need to forget about him!' Forgetting Tate Langdon would be harder than forgetting to breathe, and just as painful… just as suicidal. My father had stopped visiting after that outburst. After he'd gripped me by the shoulders and tore enough stiches to make me bleed crimson through the material of the gown, and he was escorted from the premises. My mother came less and less, as I knew she would. Supporting Ben would always come before the daughter she'd neglected, especially as I was broken, now. They could have more children; _true love_ comes but once a lifetime. As Tate said it would. Everything happens as Tate says it does.

'It's just me and you, Violet. Forever and always.'

'They're not going to let me see you again, Tate.'

'Come on, you're smarter than they are. You know that's not true. Nothing can keep us apart.'

'How do I find you?' He was so calm, speaking as though whispering his comfort right onto my brain, and I knew he was there, right there, with me.

'I'm right outside, Violet.'

'They won't let me leave. They lock the door, Tate, like I'm a criminal.'

'They only lock the door to stop you from getting to me. From being free.' His voice was gone with the clack of the door opening, and I snapped my head around to glare at the intruder before softening at the nurse from this morning. She placed my lunch onto the table rather than on my lap, and perched on the edge of my bed again.

"I talked to someone at the prison, Violet." Her voice wasn't happy, and that killed me.

"And?"

"And… he's been replying. The doctors haven't been giving you his letters, they thought it would confuse you when they're trying to make you better." I felt my eyes bug out, and I sat up straight.

"You have to get me those letters, you have to!"

"I… I could lose my job," she mumbled, edging backwards. I scrambled over the sheets after her, gripping her forearms in my hands.

"Please. Please. I'll die without him, I know I will." She pressed her lips into a harsh line, pressing the blood out of her mouth.

"Alright. I'll try. I'll try." I beamed, feeling genuinely happy for the first time since the last time I'd seen Tate, praying that I'd be reading his thoughts soon.

They switched my nurses; the next morning the woman came and went without a word, three times a day, every day, for sixteen days.

"Where did the other nurse go?"

"Away." One word, one, ambiguous word that left me gnawing through my lip until I choked on my own blood. I welcomed the foam of it in my throat, hot and slick and so much like relief.

"Violet!" It was her, the nurse from before. She was wearing her own clothes instead of her uniform, face solemn. I felt myself pushed forward and I coughed blood onto the floor. "What are you doing to yourself?" Her lower lip quivered and I frowned, because she was acting as though she cared about me when she didn't even know me, not really.

"Why do you even care? You went away." I tried to look away from her but it was impossible, her face settled the queasiness in my stomach.

"I got fired, for taking the letters from-"

"Tate?" I prompted and she nodded. People don't mind doing bad things so long as their not acknowledged, I guess.

"I went to see him, too." My heart dropped into my stomach before lurching into my throat.

"Oh my… how was he?" I sat up, the bloody mess down my front and the wooziness in my head forgotten.

"He's okay. A little beaten up, but okay. He's not being tried as an adult based on the fact that his accomplices were much older than him and are taking the fall for it." His cock-sucking mother and her boyfriend finally did something noble then. Good.

"Do you have the letters now?" I asked, hopeful without daring to hope.

"Yes. It wasn't easy to get in here, and I think you should know I read them. I had to, for my conscience's sake." I nodded, making grabby hands for the bundle of papers she was pulling out of her coat. "I don't know when I'll be able to get back here. Look after those." She stood.

"Thank you," I managed, overcome with how much I owed her. She'd given up her life for a pair of dysfunctional criminals.

_My Violet,_

_Of course I've been getting your letters, love. I'm guessing you're not getting mine, which means either the prison isn't sending them or the hospital isn't letting you have them. I don't know why, seeing as I'm getting mine, but I'm so glad I'm getting yours. Your words are the only thing keeping me alive. I hope you're safe. I hope you know how much I love you… how much I will always love you. Violet you're my whole world, nothing will change that. They can keep me locked up until the day I die and I will still recite your name every day. I'll die with 'Violet' on my lips, whether I ever get to see you again or not. _

_I'd like to tell you to move on. If I don't get out, to find a nice guy and to fall in love and to have a family. But I'm just not that fucking selfless. I need you to need me like I need you or I'll die for sure. You're the most beautiful person that has ever lived, and I'm the luckiest man in the world for having known you, let alone had the privilege to call you mine. Nothing has made me happier than reading you sign your name 'Violet Langdon'. Whether it's legally binding or not, you're my wife, and whether they let us or not, we'll always be together. I know I'm rambling and repeating myself, but this is all I think about. You have taken over me completely. If I'd had the chance, I'd have spent every day proving to you that I can be a good person. That my crimes don't define who I am, who I am through you. _

_I don't know whether you get the news, but there's hope for us yet. Constance and Larry have come forward about Leah's murder, and they've confessed. I did little more than help them. Maybe for once, Constance's corruption won't have ruined everything that's ever made me happy. Maybe this time there will be justice. _

_I have to stop here if I plan on making it to the mailbox today. I love you more than life itself, you remember that. You're not alone, I'm with you. I'm right there. _

_Eternally yours,_

_Tate_

I felt my tears spill over, his declarations and his hope sustaining the tiny flicker I'd dared to allow kindle. He could get out. He could really, truly get out. If Constance and Larry went down for it, his involvement could be minimal. He's under 18, he could get away with five years imprisonment. Just five years. We could both wait five years. I could get out of here, convince them that I'm better, and visit him every day.


	17. Books on the Floor

"You not going to write to him anymore?"

"I can't." My frustration was clear, and Alex sighed, shaking her head. I'd grown pretty close to the nurse now, she wasn't assigned to me anymore but she visited every night after she finished her shift, and we'd gotten as close to friendship as I'd ever had.

"I just… I don't think this is going to end up well."

Why not?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Haven't your read Romeo and Juliet?"

"_Have you read Romeo and Juliet, Violet?" His voice was soft and rich, toned just right to start the spark between my thighs, though what he was saying wasn't sexual. _

"_Yeah. It's bullshit though," I really hated the way people go crazy over that fucked up excuse for a love story. He frowned though, dropping the book to the floor with a thud and crawling towards me. He straddled my thighs, not pressing down hard enough to let me feel his weight, but warming my flesh with his bare legs. _

"_You don't think it's… romantic?" He rolled his 'll's', drawing my eyes firmly to his full mouth and skilled tongue, which did nothing to help the uncomfortable slickness on my thighs and inside my underwear._

"_Tate," I gasped as he lowered himself just enough to wedge a knee between my legs. I couldn't help it, abandoning all sense of dignity I rolled my hips against his thighs. _

"_I mean, if you died… I'd die too." That woke me up. _

"_Tate, no. I mean, no. Goddamn Tate," I hissed because he'd spread his teeth against the flesh of my neck and moulded it to the shape of his mouth. _

"_As if," he kissed the spot he'd marked, "I could live without you?" The raised inflection at the end of his statement made his utterance a question though I knew the point wasn't up for negotiation. _

"_Well I think it's stupid. If I died I'd want you to carry on, I'd want you to be happy." He sat back, removing his leg from between mine and making me buck forward with a frustrated sigh. _

"_Violet, Violet, I couldn't live without you, I couldn't be happy knowing you weren't in the world." The sincerity in his voice didn't leave room for questioning. He truly believed himself. _

"_Well you don't have to worry about that, anyway." _

"_No?" He raised an eyebrow in a challenge. _

"_I'm immortal," I stated with a smirk and he giggled, an angel face with dilated pupils as he mashed his mouth onto mine and forced my lips open instantly with his own. _

"_Can I be immortal, too?" He asked against my mouth and I nipped his bottom lip. _

"_Sure you can put up with me forever?" _

"_Violet," he pulled back, slipping a hand around my neck and applying pressure to my windpipe with his thumb. "I couldn't put up with forever without you," he was being honest, and the graceful smile spread across his features confused me because it was becoming harder and harder to breathe. _

"_Tate… can't," I choked on the words. _

"_Shhhh its okay baby. We'll talk later. I'm tired." I wanted to point out that he didn't need to knock me unconscious every time he needed to sleep, but I didn't know how that would truly help the situation. He wouldn't understand anyways. _

"_Tate," I whispered as much as I could manage, but I was fading fast. _

"_Shhh, Juliet, shhhh." _

_By the time I'd woken up, everything was normal again and when I'd asked Tate about Romeo and Juliet he'd given me a funny little look, accompanied by a half smile. _

"_Violet… I've never even read Romeo and Juliet…" his mouth quirked. "You must have dreamed it or something." _

I pressed my lips into a tight line, remembering.

"Tate won't kill himself. Jesus, you're morbid." My voice wavered a little, remembering the conversation but not willing to share such a peculiar moment with Alex.

"Maybe so, but I've seen the way that boy writes to you. And I've visited him, remember. You're his reason for living. You can't just… stop talking to him."

"I can. I have to. I have to make the doctors believe I don't love him anymore, or they'll never let me go."

"Alright. Do you want me to smuggle some more of his letters to you for a while?"

"I don't know, I don't think that will make it easier to not reply. He'll probably worry for a while, but I'm hoping he'll come to the conclusion that they're simply withholding my letters, but I'm still writing them. He needs to believe I'm safe, I just can't tell him so." She nodded.

"I could… maybe try to see him again. And just let him know." I bit my lip, because the idea was horribly tempting, but at the same time, terrifying. Alex was pretty, voluptuous, not too many years older than I was. Tate was in prison, and a jealous, insecure part of me was desperate to prevent the two of them talking. The idea of him falling for her… I couldn't let him see any woman but me.

"No, we don't know who can be trusted, you know?"

"Not everything is a conspiracy you know," she sighed, shaking her head a little at my paranoia.

"Well me and Tate haven't had a whole lot of people on our side, okay? There's just us." I snapped, and she stiffened, standing up.

"Alright. I'm sorry I suggested anything at all. I've got to go, okay? I'll see you tomorrow." At least she was coming back. We'd fix things then, I was too drained from this conversation to try to apologise now. She was an hour late the next morning, in her own clothes instead of uniform. By the watery look to her eyes, I knew there was something wrong. I sat up.

"What's happened?" My concern wasn't entirely selfish, I was just as worried that something had happened within her life as I was that something had happened to Tate. Well, maybe not _just_ as worried, but worried all the same.

"Oh god, Violet, I'm so sorry," her voice broke off into sobs and she hugged herself, not approaching me as she usually would.

"What the fuck is going on?" My voice was a snap through the hysteria bubbling up.

"It's… oh god. It's all over the news. Constance is dead." I sat back, feeling a sick sense of relief.

"That's okay. Really. Tate won't care." I didn't care either. I wondered why Alex was in tears.

"No but… her boyfriend… when he heard, oh god," I sat up again, tense, because I had an inkling as to where this was going. Would Larry really continue to take the fall for Tate with Constance gone? I was betting that no, he wouldn't.

"Larry has a watertight alibi, it's just surfaced and it's being considered. There's a chance Tate will go down for the whole thing now."

"No."

"Violet, he's 18 in three weeks."

"No." I didn't even want to think about how she knew that. I didn't want to think that she'd visited him, _plotted _with him.

"He might be eligible for the death penalty."

"No."

"Violet."

"Can you leave me alone, please. I need to think." She didn't need to be asked twice, she didn't know how to cope with me at the moment, because I wasn't a hysterical mess like she was. She didn't know how to handle any grief other than the kind you see on the silver screen. I was hollowing out, rapidly and ruthlessly, draining the hope from my bones and resigning myself to sit and watch and wait for the moment when my worst fears would be confirmed. I would not hope for a lenient sentence, I would simply wait for the confirmation that Tate was going to be killed. I hadn't switched off my emotions, wouldn't if I could, but had allowed them to become me. I was not going to feel grief for him, I was going to become grief.

It only took three days of waiting and waiting and Alex's shaky reassurances and visits that were becoming shorter and shorter for me to hear the news.

"Larry has been released. I'm so sorry Violet. I'll come back when I know more." That was the confirmation, in the most ambiguous way, that Alex would not be coming back to talk to me without a purpose, because I was no longer worth talking to. I'd forgotten what it was like to talk, or the semblance of teenage bullshit I'd known for a few short weeks when I had a friend and a boyfriend I could write letters to and a whole future to dream about. She was eyeing me in a weary way though, like she was afraid I'd smash through the window and kill myself right here, but I wasn't Juliet. I'd never be Juliet. Tate wanted to be Romeo, or maybe he just wanted me to want him to be Romeo, but neither of us were that tragic. I could, would survive without him, because, suicide is simply too easy a way out. It was my fault Tate had been caught… he came back for me, saved my life. He'd still be in school if I hadn't made it necessary for him to kill Leah. He would graduate, go to college, make something of himself one day. He'd marry a pretty woman and have pretty babies and die old, and loved. But he couldn't do any of that now, because of me.

Maybe he'd have married someone like Alex. Maybe he could still marry someone like Alex, someone simple and pretty with a normal job and a steadfast sense of right and wrong, of normal and abnormal, who could ground him. Maybe he already was. I mean, it's not so implausible, is it? Tate isn't seeing me, isn't seeing anyone but the other boys in the centre, and then he gets visits from a pretty woman who 'cares' about him. It's really not so implausible that he would eventually fall for her, over me. I didn't want to see Alex anymore, though cutting connection with her would not necessarily cut his connection with her, but I had to ask. I didn't want to know but I had to ask.

"Are you seeing him?" I asked, because I had to.

"Not anymore," she looked at the floor, knowing what this would mean to me: Betrayal.

"When did you stop?"

"The day before Constance died. I went back but they won't let me see him now, until the trial is over."

"Why did they let you see him at all?" I had to know.

"I…"

"You what?" I searched her downcast face, knowing the answer from the way it was written in her blush.

"I told them I was his girlfriend."

"Go away." I knew it was childish, and there are a million more biting, eloquent ways I could have hurt her, but I didn't have the energy to. She had betrayed me, she was not my friend, and perhaps he wasn't, either. Was he in love with her, now? Had he stopped writing me letters weeks ago? I hadn't read them for fear of finding his hurt and confusion too painful, but would I have found instead a confession that he had found someone else? Someone better than I could ever be? Tate was better than that, of course, but it didn't make the thoughts go away when his hands and lips and tongue weren't there to dispel my insecurities.

"Violet…"

"I said go away."

"Violet…" she sighed, moving for the door. She stopped before exiting, turning dramatically in that bullshit way they do in sitcoms when they have something to say. "Violet, before I go, you should know something. Can I tell you?" I made no move to acknowledge her. "It's about Tate?" She added, and I turned my head a little, because as cliché as it was and though I knew that of course it would be about Tate, hearing her say his name had piqued my interest.

"I tried to get him to forget you, for both your sakes, he's such an incredible man," I bristled with indignation, feeling her praise like it were slander, but she wasn't finished. "He told me to go away. Screamed it, actually, a lot. And that's when I wasn't allowed to go in and see him anymore. You know what I think?" I shook my head, slowly, trying to process what she was telling me. "I don't think they stopped letting me in when Constance died. I think they stopped letting me in because he refused to see me. It's always you, Violet. I just thought you should know that, even if it doesn't make it any easier on either of you… or me," she added, voice breaking as she dashed from the room.

I almost pitied her, this poor girl, because she'd only succumbed to her natural response. It was impossible to hate Tate. I was unique for loving the monster he could be, but everyone, the whole damn world loved his face and his smile and his rich, honey sweet voice that could charm anyone into anything. She'd suffer forever with the loss and longing of unrequited love, because when you fall in love with the devil he has your soul forever, even when he doesn't particularly want you.

"At least he's mine," I mumbled to myself, smiling though it hurt my cheeks to stretch and burn over the bone. I turned to look out the window, content to relive the memories of my time with Tate, the memories that provided undisputable proof that Tate loved me and was mine as much as I was his, that we were equals but that he was my possession, as he'd confessed to me the weeks that seemed like a lifetime ago in a motel bathroom. His lips had dripped with my blood when he parted them around my name, making me shake with want and love and fear and respect for the man and the monster and the boy that had taken everything and given more in return than I was ever entitled to.

I lost track of days and nights because I didn't sleep and I didn't eat. I did nothing but dream and wonder, wonder if he were already dead, if he was going to die. If he was going to get out and run away with Alex, forgetting all about the hollow shell of a human being he'd moulded out of warped love and discarded. I didn't truly believe he'd discarded me, because I knew we were always more than that, more than the cliché the world presented us with, but the fear was there. I knew he wouldn't run away with Alex, she was nice but not his type, but I hoped he would run away. And that one day he'd crawl in through my window to rescue me and we could live in the woods or the desert or the mountains or anywhere he wanted so long as he was there.

The passage of time has become irrelevant. My eyes show the world in shimmers, shimmers I know are too impossibly bright and white to be anything but an illusion sent by Tate for my amusement. Nothing pleases him so much as my smile, but I cannot make my mouth form a shape so foreign for one with so much sorrow.

'Life's too short for so much sorrow,' his voice is echoed in my skull with words he never said.

'You're wrong' I sighed in my heart, 'it's an eternity'. His smile is sad, the angelic, burning look from the beach so long ago, like he was saying goodbye all over again.

'Don't you die on me, Violet,' he mumbled, but I wasn't really listening. He was so silly, to think I'd live him that way.

'I'd never,' I mumble back, just as solemn and ethereal, shimmery eyes closing to peace I could finally rest with.

"How did it happen?" Tate's voice was hard and gravely, unshed tears washing through his vocal chords like a stream.

"She starved herself, and her body was too weak to recover. We tried to drip feed her, but it was too late. She'd been ill for a very long time."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry, Mr Langdon."

"Me, too."

"You can't be blamed for this, I'll make sure of it. We're not dealing with any new charges, you're untouchable." Tate shifted in his chair, leaning back and flashing the suit across the room a small, sad smile, swallowing thickly before leaning forward and cocking his head to the side.

"I think we both know that's not the case."

"Mr Langdon, I truly believe we have a shot at this case." The lawyer floundered with papers, pen tapping the desk erratically.

"Can I talk to the prosecutor?"

"I… I can't stop you," he closed his eyes, packing his things into his briefcase.

"Goodbye Mr Langdon. It's been… interesting to work with you."

Tate nodded his head in agreement, diverting his attention to his hands.

The door opened a few minutes later, and two men entered, setting the standardised tape recorder on the desk.

"You wanted to see the prosecutors, Mr Langdon?"

"Yeah. I did it. I killed Leah, all by myself." They glanced between one another and then looked at Tate, long and hard, probably trying to figure out what his angle was. Tate sighed. "Look, Violet Harmon is dead." There was no reaction on the faces of the prosecutors, their expressions were guarded, which signalled to Tate that they were already aware of this fact and had probably planned to use it against him in some way.

"We're aware of the… tragedy," the word sat uncomfortable on prosecutor 1's lips and Tate wanted to smash his face in. Violet was so much more than that. She was the start and the end of the world.

"Yes. So…" Tate leaned forward, flashing the pair the most angelic smile he could muster, knowing the effect it could have. "Let's talk about this death penalty, shall we?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Well guys, that's it. Tate's Conscience is officially finished. Obviously there won't be a sequel, but I've been working on some new ideas, some one-shots and such, so look out for those. I feel so crappy about this being the end, but I really loved writing and I loved reading all your comments.

RECS: Everything ever written by **shootforstella. **The Curve of her Lips by **ohyellowbird** and S**carlettwoman710 **is perfect so definitely read that if you haven't already. Twisted Nerve by **TateAndViolet- Mad world **is great. **Lovely Helena** is amazing, but I'd especially recommend Darkness is My Name and Race Track Princess. **GinHermi's** Never Let Me Go is a really interesting concept AU, even if it breaks my heart a little bit sometimes! **Captivation **is fabulous, especially 100 and 200. OH OH and everything written by **gimmedanger, **too, because she writes incredible fic after incredible fic and there is no end to the talent. And one last ridiculous rec/ thank you HAS to go out to **jandjsalmon **for her continued support, advice and comments that make me laugh and squee with happiness because her approval is literally the best thing. Eternal love, therefore to **jandjsalmon **and **shootforstella **for their all-round awesomeness. **  
><strong>


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